


The Road Not Taken

by Kurenaino



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gray Jedi, Jedi Master Dooku, Mandalorian, Qui-Gon Lives, Young Anakin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-22 19:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11974281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurenaino/pseuds/Kurenaino
Summary: When two Jedi are slain by the Sith on Naboo, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his young Padawan Anakin Skywalker look for help outside the Jedi Order to bring a final end to their ancient enemy.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alright guys, this bug bit me and I HAD to write it. Don't get worried and allow me to explain. No, I haven't abandoned any of my other work. From Flames, I Soar is still my priority. This little thing here is really just my bit on the side. Because sometimes, you just gotta write a fun, adventure romp when people aren't getting raped with lightsabers and trauma. Not to say that won't happen here, but it won't be as often.
> 
> These chapters will be shorter than my other works, so it will be easier to update, though I may not update as often. I do plan on getting the first proper chapter up sometime this weekend after I update From Flames, I Soar, so look out for that, kids.
> 
> For all of my old readers, I think a lot of you will really like this one. For my new lovelies, welcome! None of my previous works are required reading to fully enjoy this, which is honestly something I can't say all that often. And I sincerely hope that you do enjoy this. Let me know what you think, kids! You know I love hearing from you. Feel free to contact me any time with thoughts/questions/discussions/generic yelling about how I ruined your lives. Again. I already said I'm sorry, jeeze...
> 
> But I'm totally not sorry.

Qui-Gon Jinn stared down at the bodies of Jedi Knight Kit Fisto and his Mon Calamari Padawan, Bant Eerin, his chest tight with grief that he didn't bother to keep concealed. A deep, charred cut was drawn through the Nautolan's neck, his head nearly severed, and two long, crossing slashes burned through Bant's slender body. Lightsaber wounds, instantly fatal, no doubt caused by the creature that he had engaged on Tatooine a few days earlier. He had returned to Coruscant and called it Sith before the Jedi Council, but as usual, they didn't listen, the matter forgotten in the light of the much more immediate, tangible issue that Qui-Gon presented to them.

Anakin Skywalker.

The nearly ten year old boy possessed a potential that could rival some of the greatest Masters of the Order, and from the moment he met him, Qui-Gon knew that the Force had delivered him to Tatooine that day to find this boy. The whole mess with the Queen Amidala could have been solved anywhere, but they had landed on Tatooine, just miles outside Mos Espa, the city in which a slave boy and his mother, owned by a greedy Toydarian, lived and worked under the blistering suns, oblivious to the weight of the power within the young boy. It was far too convenient to be a coincidence, and Qui-Gon had never believed in the anyway. This was the will of the Force, and he had always followed it, the rules be damned.

As expected, the Jedi were none too happy about the Master dragging the child back to the Temple and demanding he be trained. He was too old, too scared, too attached and sentimental, already touched by the harshness of the galaxy which made shaping him to fit the Jedi mold a near impossibility. There was darkness in Anakin Skywalker, and it frightened the Masters enough that the matter took precedence over the fact that Qui-Gon had encountered a possible  _Sith Lord_  out in the desert. They forbid Anakin from undergoing training, and in his vast irritation, his stubborn defiance rose to the forefront and he told the Masters on the Council to put their rules and restrictions up their stodgy asses.

He would train Anakin Skywalker. And there wasn't a damn thing any of them could do about it. Forbidding Qui-Gon from doing what he believed in was as pointless as trying to make the Masters see his point of view.

With a new Padawan under his wing, Qui-Gon recused himself from his duty to protect Queen Amidala, as his new duty as Master to a young child would have seen him as both reckless and highly irresponsible for bringing young Skywalker to a war zone, the hostilities between the Republic and the Trade Federation guaranteeing that the Invasion of Naboo would end in significant bloodshed. In his place, the Jedi Council had appointed Kit Fisto and his Padawan to the protection of the Queen, one that would very likely be Bant's last before she was to undergo the trials and be elevated to the rank of Jedi Knight.

The Battle of Naboo had been won, though the casualties had been extraordinarily high, over half the native Gungan population exterminated in the fields where they met the Trade Federation's Droid Army before Gregar Typho, a young pilot serving Queen Amidala, led his squadron in an attack run of the Federation's control ship and destroyed it. Though most of the fighters were killed in action, the droid army became inactive without the ship relays to control them, and with the young Queen leading the infiltration of her own Palace in Theed, the Federation leaders were captured, and the battle was won.

But the creature from the desert had been there. A fearsome red and black Zabrak, small in stature but fast and athletic and soaked in the Dark Side, a  _Sith_ , if not an assassin, and in the aftermath of the battle, Kit Fisto and Bant Eerin were found dead deep in the massive reaction chambers of the palace, and their Sith slayer was nowhere to be found.

Their deaths struck everyone hard, but Qui-Gon felt it much more keenly than many others. Bant had been the Padawan of the Jedi Master Tahl, his close, dear friend and the woman he loved deeply for many, many years until her murder. Qui-Gon found himself prey to the Dark Side at her loss, grief and the need for revenge dragging him down into the depth of darkness until he was stopped mere moments before he embraced his rage and murdered the defenseless criminal that ended her life. Tahl left behind a Padawan, young and grief-stricken by her Master's loss, and the recently Knighted Kit Fisto had taken her on as his own, uncertain in his ability to teach her, but willing to do the best for the girl.

And now they were both dead. The smiling Nautolan and the last living connection to Jedi Master Tahl.

A part of Qui-Gon blamed himself for their deaths. They were young, promising, talented, and they had gone in  _his place_. Had he not been with Anakin, Qui-Gon would have been with the Queen, would have very likely fought this Sith again, and if the fight in the desert was any indication, he would have likely been slain as well. But for as much as he blamed himself, he  _also_  blamed the Council, so short-sighted, so sure of themselves, so  _certain_  that their enemies had been exterminated and could never come back. The trade was hardly a fair one. His life for the lives of two promising Jedi, and all because the Council didn't have the wisdom to send their very best when there was a possible Sith involved. They didn't believe him, and they sent a Knight when they should have sent a Master, sent Kit Fisto when they should have sent Mace Windu. If they had, that Sith bastard would be dead, and the entire Jedi Order wouldn't be in mourning.

"I hear you have angered the Council," a rich, deep voice said from behind him, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes and smiled despite himself before he turned from the bodies and walked toward the older man in the doorway. "Such a rare thing for you to do, my impetuous student," Dooku said, a soft chuckle in his throat when Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.

"Come now, Master, you know I would  _never_  do anything to anger our wise Masters," Qui-Gon quipped, but the humor in his voice was flat and forced, his eyes drifting back to the bodies on the tables, his jaw tight with pain and anger.

"I heard you warned them," Dooku muttered softly, his large hand resting on the other Jedi's shoulder, the touch warm and sympathetic and comforting, though he did nothing to soothe the man's anger. "They are fools, Qui-Gon. Blind servants to a corrupt government. We have fallen  _so far_  in such a short time. I do not remember the Jedi Order being so in my youth. Master Yoda did  _not_  train me to sit idly by and watch as the galaxy slides into chaos. And now,  _this_ ," he said gravely, gesturing to the two dead Jedi. "Jedi inaction and arrogance has led to the death of two of our own."

"I don't disagree with you, Dooku, you know that..." Qui-Gon groaned, rubbing his tired eyes and sighing as he turned from the bodies and passed by Dooku on his way out the door, the older Master falling into the slow step beside his former student. "We shouldn't be beholden to the Senate, it allows them to dictate the path we follow and the people we help when only the Force should guide us. I've done my best to follow the Living Force, Master, and it has only seen me ostracized." Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head, tucking a stray strand of his long hair behind his ear. "I don't know, if I was less... _confrontational_ , perhaps they would listen to me when it matters."

"If you were less confrontational, Qui-Gon, not only would you no longer be yourself, but you'd likely be just as blind and foolish as the rest of them," Dooku grumbled under his breath. "There is so little left to keep me here," he said softly, his dark eyes roving around the high halls of the spacious corridors of the Jedi Temple. "I feel my heart has grown cold to the Jedi and the corruption they aid in spreading by serving the ineffectual Senate. But  _you_..." he said more lightly this time. "You give me hope there may one day be more like you. Without you here, my friend, I'm certain the temptations of a life on Serenno would be far too great to resist."

"I'm surprised you haven't gone already..." Qui-Gon said with a wry smirk on his lips. "You don't do too much for the Order these days with all your political disagreements."

"You certainly cannot blame me, that travesty on Naboo should never have been allowed to occur," Dooku said strongly, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, empty halls. "This whole matter could have been avoided if the Jedi interfered in the conflict  _months_  ago," he said, his voice lowered this time.

"And now two Jedi are dead at the hands of the Sith..." Qui-Gon muttered, and Dooku grew silent, the echoing of their footsteps off the marble in the halls the only sound between them.

"Are you certain it was Sith?" Dooku finally asked, and Qui-Gon scoffed softly and shrugged his shoulders.

"Who can be certain of anything anymore. But I  _feel_  it, Master. Deep in the very core of me, I  _feel it_. That creature was Sith. They've returned, if they've ever been gone at all."

"A disturbing turn of events..." Dooku mumbled, a slight smirk touching the corner of his lips that the other Jedi was quick to notice. "By the way, the Council summoned you to discuss the matter of the Sith, since you are the only one who has fought that beast and survived."

"They summoned me?" Qui-Gon asked, suspicion in his voice as he looked the Master. "I'd have thought they'd never want to see me again after our last argument. Master Yoda is  _very_  unhappy with me."

"So I heard..." Dooku said with a heavy sigh. "He was not shy about letting me know how dangerous your defiance is. I can't say it didn't please me, and I did tell him so. I trained my student to be a free thinker. One that is a pain in my ass as much as he is to everyone else."

"I always aim to please, Master," Qui-Gon said with a mocking bow, changing his course to walk down the hallway that would lead them toward the Council Chambers. "Do you suppose our wise Masters will still be in at this hour? When did they summon me?"

"Oh..." Dooku mused coyly, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he considered the question, though he clearly knew the answer. "Early this morning. But I figured you would have no desire to come when you are called."

"How very perceptive of you..."

"It is my understanding that the matter of the Sith was not your only point of contention with the Council the other day..." Dooku said slyly. "I was hoping to meet the child that captured your attention. It's good you are taking another Padawan, it has been a  _very_  long time since you have one."

"I've been hard-pressed to find another," Qui-Gon said with a shrug. "My last spoiled me. I fear he left my standards exceedingly high."

"Which makes me all the more keen on meeting him," Dooku said lightly. "I was hoping he'd be with you. Where is he?"

"Master Dooku, it is three in the morning, and like all good ten year olds, Anakin is  _sleeping_ ," Qui-Gon said with a roll of his eyes. "As should you be. You're getting old."

"As are you, my friend."

"...I can't sleep, not since..." Qui-Gon gestured back toward the infirmary, and with a soft growl of frustration, he shook his head, his pace increasing as he strode toward the elevator. "If they just  _listened_ , this wouldn't have happened. Now we have a Sith Lord on our hands and no way to find him..." Qui-Gon said as he stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind him and the older Master. "How many more of us need to die before the Jedi do something?"

"A great many more, I suspect," Dooku said sympathetically. "You know as well as I that our Masters will sit on their hands and discuss and debate in circles until the true threat is lost. Until other matters come to occupy them, and there are so many now with the troubles that now plague our galaxy. The Republic is corrupt, Qui-Gon. It poisons everything it touches, and the Jedi  _serve it_."

"Not all Jedi follow the will of the Council."

"Which is precisely why I am still here..." Dooku drawled as the elevator opened, and the two men stepped out into the room, the large, heavy door of the Council Chamber before them. "You are training a boy said to be quite powerful, and I know you will train him  _right_. Perhaps there is still hope for the Jedi."

"That is what I believe..." Qui-Gon said, a soft, gentle smile on his lips as he lay his hand on the door. "And if that wasn't enough, the prospect of training him is making the Masters soil their robes."

"Dangerous to train, too much fear and darkness in him already," Dooku droned with a roll of his eyes. "This from the very same Council that failed to sense the return of the Sith."

"My thoughts exactly."

Without another word, the two men pushed the door open and stepped into the Council Chamber, the dark room lit by nothing but moonlight and the bright lights of the city that surrounded them. The chairs that circled the room cast long shadows on the intricate patterns on the floor and the men took a moment for their eyes to adjust, the feel of peace that surrounded them informing them of the tremendous presence in the room with them before they saw him. Slowly, their eyes adjusted, and both the Masters looked at the same chair, and despite their discomfort and grievances with the Council, they both found themselves sighing in relief that he was still there.

"Late, you are, Qui-Gon," Yoda said in his soft, raspy voice, his feet clasped together, his hands on his knees and his eyes never opening.

"Dooku's getting old, Master," Qui-Gon explained with a smirk when he sensed the deep frown that spread on his former Master's face. "His joints ache. It took him until just now to hobble his way to me."

"I deeply regret telling you at all," Dooku droned. "It would have been so much more entertaining to watch the Council berate you for your insolence in the morning.  _Again_. There's nothing like watching a Jedi Master get  _grounded_  for being petulant."

"Yes, all that aside, I needed time to get Anakin settled," Qui-Gon said carefully, watching the tiny Master's shoulders tense slightly under his robes. "And I was under the impression that such a meeting would be without point. The Masters made it very clear the other day that my opinion is to be disregarded. Is it not best that I save us all the frustration of not attending?"

"Valuable, your opinion is," Yoda said calmly, his big eyes opening and focusing on the two tall men. "Sith, you say, was your assailant on Tatooine. The same who killed Kit Fisto and Bant Eerin, it was. Believe this still, do you?"

"I do," Qui-Gon said firmly and without hesitation, drawing up taller as he looked at the Jedi Grandmaster. "With everything in my being, I  _know_  it was."

"Agree with you, the Council does," Yoda said after a moment's silence. "Returned, the Sith have."

" _Finally_!" Qui-Gon said with a sigh of relief. "So what are we going to do? How are we going to hunt this beast? He's killed two Jedi already, we'd be fools to believe he won't kill again."

"Agree on what to do, the Council does not," Yoda whispered, the tiny Master seeming tired and old, older than he had ever looked to Qui-Gon.

"This is hardly out of the ordinary, Master," Dooku grumbled, his arms crossed over his chest. "Even in the face of our ancient enemy, the Jedi do  _nothing_. How long do you suppose these talks and debates will go on for? If the Sith goes to ground, how long before we decide that it was an isolated incident because it is easier and less frightening to believe that we are  _safe_."

"Powerful, this Sith is," Yoda said softly, reaching for his stick and sliding off the chair to hobble closer to the towering men. "Cautious, we must be."

"With all due respect, Master," Dooku said, his deep voice lowering dangerously, "damn caution. Jedi have  _died_. We do not solve a problem by  _looking_  at it, we must face it head on. Send the best we have, send Master Windu."

"Disturbed, the Force is," Yoda whispered in his soft rasp, his eyes closed and his ears lowered. "Darkness, there is, across the galaxy. Tension, there is, in the Republic. Needed, the Jedi are, to keep the peace."

"There are  _Sith_  about, Jedi are  _dead_  and still we are bound to the whims of the Republic," Dooku spat bitterly.

"Then perhaps this isn't a job for a Jedi," Qui-Gon said slowly, a wide grin spreading across his face, and though Yoda's hand tightened around his stick, his ears perked up, his wide eyes focused on the unconventional Master. "And I think I know  _just_  the guy.


	2. The Knight of Mandalore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually blown away by the response I'm getting from this, and since I've got the start of this thing buzzing around in my mind, I thought I'd get the next chapter down for you. You guys are the best. Seriously, thank you so much. Keep letting me know what you think, the things you guys pay attention to sort of guides the rate of the updates. The next chapter of From Flames, I Soar should be up later today, and if not, certainly by tomorrow. And hell, I might get the next chapter of this baby up tomorrow also.
> 
> That's it, lovelies! Let me know what you think!

The cracked, barren earth of Nam Chorios crunched under armored boots, the slow, measured steps carrying the lone warrior across the vast emptiness of the stormy world. The clouds were black as pitch, lit with the constant arching of lighting of unnatural purple, the effects of an unusually dry atmosphere, or something far more sinister that lay in wait in the hills of the world bathed in the perpetual dusk of a dim and dying star. It was a cold world, not one of snow but of sand and dry planes that never saw rain, despite the ominous clouds above. It was uncomfortable and unwelcoming, enough to keep hopeful colonists away, and though the planet could support human and near human life, none willingly ventured near this destitute place.

The Mandalorian walked alone with long, confident strides, the armor he wore over an insulated black compression suit a bright cobalt blue and a shining silver white that reflected the dim light of Nam Chorios with a brilliant sheen that only came from tender, careful care. Fine, black cloth ran under his shoulder pauldrons to fall just above his elbow in loose sleeves, the fabric draped over the armor on his back that served as a cowl when drawn. The fine, blue embroidered edges denoted a cape of rank, a custom among the warriors of Mandalore to grace their commanders with such, and though he didn't wear it draped over his shoulder as was customary, no Mandalorian could mistake what the fine cloth meant. This man held rank, and a very high one, had distinguished himself in the field of battle, and was worthy of respect by those who considered themselves children of Mandalore.

A single blaster was strapped to his leg, a light, almost elegant thing that complimented the fine quality of his armor, the underwhelming arsenal complimented by a utility belt that was packed with gadgets and tools tucked away safely inside pouches, extra charges for the blaster clipped tightly beside a long silver cylinder secured tightly along his lower back. For what he lacked in firepower, he made up for in the Mandalorian vambraces he wore, dangerous equipment used by the ancient Mandalorians to fight against the Jedi, the gear special equipt to combat the unique powers the Force granted its warriors. In modern Mandalore, they were difficult to find, the pacifist reign of the New Mandalorians going to great lengths to forget their warrior past, but he had received the pair as a gift, and they went with him on every one of his missions. He was often hunting Jedi, or those that had been. As he was now.

The creature that lived on this waste of a planet would have gone undiscovered had the atmospheric storms not brought down a Mandalorian trade ship returning home from Raxus. Contact with the crew had been lost and the distress signal interrupted when panic erupted among the passengers, and in light of what appeared to be an attack on their people, the warrior left to investigate. An inquiry into the matter at a small, miserable outpost pointed the warrior in the right direction with the warning that all those who ventured into the hills never returned. There was a monster living in the hills, a tyrant with unusual powers and hypnotic red eyes that enslaved all who looked upon it. To the people, the creature was their terrible ruler. To the Mandalorian, the beast sounded like a creature with command of the Force.

His careful, cautious passing through the desolate wastes and the barren hills led him to discover traces of the creature, long, undulating tracks in the ground left by a thick, muscular body nearly thirty feet in length, from the look of it, which greatly narrowed the possibilities of what he would be facing beneath the hills. Too large to be a Thisspiasian, the wrong track patters to be an Anacondan, and his research into the planet ruled out the possibility that a native species had left the tracks. No, this was the creature he hunted, though all the individual pieces he had collected seemed to be from different puzzles. Tracks that undulated, not slithered, which ruled out most reptilian species he knew of. Nearly thirty feet in full, thick length, far larger than any sentient species that moved like this that he was aware of, though the beast was almost certainly intelligent. Force sensitivity, which excluded the increasing likelihood of it being a particularly large member of the Hutt species.

It was a puzzle, one that made him more and more curious as he drew closer, as the storms in the air intensified, as the evidence of human and near human tracks joined the serpentine trail. By the time he had found the lair of the creature deep in the wide mouth of a cave in the hill, the Mandalorian was eagerly awaiting the chance to examine this unknown tyrant that ruled the planet from his isolated den.

A hundred possibilities rushed through his mind as he activated his helmet's scanner and confirmed the presence of nearly a hundred life forms within the caves, huddled close together and listless, almost mindless, the very  _feel_  of them somehow wrong, their wills sapped, their bodies enslaved. It was, without question, the work of the Force, a hard handed application of the Jedi Mind Trick, the ghost of mere suggestion transformed into a mind crushing hand. It was... _repulsive_ , and the warrior found his curiosity quickly fading into resolve. Whatever dwelled here needed to be destroyed.

He walked forward into the mouth of the cave, his way lit by fires burning in pits along the way, the dry, charged air or the plains replaced by a thick, heavy musk, an almost wet, rotten smell that reeked of sweat and pheromones and sex. As he ventured deeper, the flickering shadows on the walls betrayed nervous creatures that quickly darted out of sight to hide deeper in the tunnels. The Mandalorian did not pursue them. It would only cause the enslaved creatures further stress that he did not wish to inflict. It didn't take long before long, low laughter echoed through the tunnels, a deep, muttering voice reverberating through the air, and a chill ran up the warrior's spine, his pace quickening as he moved toward the voice, more and more certain of what he would find, the slight thrill of the impossible fluttering in his gut.

He stopped at the entrance to a large, wide cavern, a massive fire burning in the center surrounded by dozens of naked humans and near humans, some dancing, some engaging in coitus, others simply laying around, though all of them were in chains and collars, all of them sporting the same vacant daze upon their faces. In the back of the cavern was the creature that he hunted, thirty feet long, as he predicted, the serpentine body thick with muscles that made it appear almost snake-like, though the creature was clearly not reptilian. Sporting two short, muscular arms and a wide mouth on a broad, bulbous head with red, glowing eyes, the creature was atypical of its species, but it was  _clearly_  a Hutt.

The noise of the chattering, grunting humans stopped in an instant when the red eyes of their Hutt Master fell on the Mandalorian, narrowing dangerously as he opened his mouth and spoke, a low, deep grumbling that made the thick air vibrate, and when the Mandalorian didn't move, the creature hissed and slithered forward, the thick, powerful tail lashing out behind it at the slaves that were too close.

"Vaabir gar jorhaa'ir Mando'a?" the warrior asked, the usually harsh language elegant and clipped, almost aristocratic as it filtered through the helmet's modulator. The Hutt responded with a harsh, guttural bark, the slaves running for the edges of the room as the massive creature extended his hands and pushed, the dust on the ground and the fire in the pit sweeping into the air as he touched the Force and threw it at the intruder. When the fire returned to its even burning and the dust settled, the Mandalorian still stood, unmoving and unaffected, and with a furious, savage cry, the Hutt extended his hand and a massive, tarnished haft flew to his hand, the deep snapping hiss echoing through the cavern as a long, purple blade extended from the hilt of the lightsaber.

" _Jetti_..." the warrior gasped, awe in his voice as he stepped forward. "I scarcely believe it, a Force sensitive Hutt!" he said, switching to Galactic Basic, which he spoke with a heavily accented clip. "You understand me, yes?" he asked when the Hutt faltered. "The way you hold your lightsaber shows you have formal training, which means it is  _very_  likely that you spent time in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. You speak Basic, yes?" A low, grumbling growl was his response, the Hutt snarling viciously as his tail thrashed, striking the heaps of trash and treasures that were collected in the lair. "Your species is resistant to the Force, how did a Hutt come to train with the Jedi?"

"You are such an expert on my people,  _slave_?" the slug snarled, his red eyes narrowing and the thick air grew heavier. "I do not question the circumstances of my birth, I just use the power I possess!"

"As does any tyrant..." the Mandalorian said dismissively, the faintest hint of disgust in his measured voice. "What do you call yourself."

" _Beldorion_ ," the Hutt said smoothly, his voice flat and even, devoid of emotion as his hand passed in the air before him, the Mandalorian exhaling slowly as he felt sudden pressure bearing down upon him. "But you will call me  _Master_."

"Master..." the warrior said softly, the word hanging in the air between them for a moment before he scoffed, his head shaking as he laughed softly. "No, I think not. You are hardly worthy of calling yourself that, and even if you were, it has been a  _very_  long time since I called someone by the title. I fear I am no longer cut out for it. But  _you_..." he growled, stepping closer to the enraged slug, head held high and fearless in the light of the purple saber. "You may have been a Jedi once, but what you have done here is reprehensible. You've abused your command of the Force to make these people your slaves!"

"And what do you know of the Force, tiny man?" Beldorion said with a smooth, cruel chuckle. "You fancy yourself some kind of Jedi?"

"Me? A Jedi?" The Mandalorian laughed gently, a light, easy thing, and the Hutt wriggled back with a low growl, adjusting the saber in his hands and readying it to strike out against the solitary warrior. "No, I am no Jedi. But in a minute, you're going to wish I was."

With a savage roar, the Hutt rushed forward, faster than any creature that size had the right to move, the characteristic fleshy body of his species absent on his muscular frame, allowing him to move with speed and efficiency as he cut down at the Mandalorian with the full force of the purple blade in both his hands. To his surprise, Beldorion looked down to there the saber was hissing against the ground and found that his opponent was  _gone_. Swift movement caught out of the corner of his vision sent the Hutt swiping his blade behind him, rapid slices changing directions at random as he charged the evasive Mandalorian.

His fury and rage only grew with each strike as the purple blade  _somehow_  missed his opponent when the blade should have been striking home. It was... _unthinkable_ , but somehow, the retreating Mandalorian was able to narrowly avoid the blade with each strike, as if he causing the weapon to miss, like the lightsaber was subtly deflected just before the moment of impact. The tide of the Hutt's fury only shifted when the Mandalorian extended his hand and a glowing yellow plasma grappling line extended from the vambrace on his wrist and wrapping around the lightsaber's hilt near the elongated pommel.

A wrathful howl shook the cavern walls, and Beldorion savagely lashed out at the Mandalorian, only to have the warrior pull on the grappling line and pull the saber away from its intended target, the warrior acting as a counterbalance to the blade on the long shaft of the hilt. The Hutt changed his tactic, angling the blade instead to cut the plasma line, but his opponent was too fast, too agile, and for each hard, heavy sweep of the purple blade, a swift movement or a quick tug of the line redirected the weapon to strike uselessly at the ground and the walls, burning, molten trails cut into the dark stone.

When the blade wasn't working, Beldorion lashed out with his tail, the thick, muscular length of his body whipping around him as he attempted to crush the offending Mandalorian, but the man was too quick, carefully evading the tail and using well-placed pulls on the grappling line to send the slashing blade toward the Hutt's own body, the enraged creature forced to pull his strikes to avoid severing his own tail. He only endured the warrior's new strategy for a moment before he roared, loud and savage when the man leapt onto his tail, pushing off only a second later just as Beldorion swiftly rose his blade above his head, the grappling line yanking the Mandalorian high into the air above the grinning, triumphant Hutt.

Beldorion's victory only lasted for a moment when the Mandalorian flipped high in the air above him, tugging swiftly on the line at the peak of the Hutt's swing, and the blade went flying from his hands, the glowing plasma line cut as the Hutt was disarmed. The Mandalorian fell down toward Beldorion, reaching behind him for the cylinder on his belt, and with a flash of blue, the warrior landed on the Hutt's broad, flat head, a glowing lightsaber buried deep inside the groaning creature's skull. The massive body grew slack, wavered for a moment, and went crashing to the ground, the tense, muscular body relaxing as the creature drew a last, shuddering breath and died.

With a sigh of relief, the Mandalorian returned his lightsaber to its place on his belt, his eyes closed as the incessant, irritating buzzing at the back of his mind vanished as the oppressive feel of the cavern lifted, the disturbance in the Force corrected and slowly returning to its natural state of peaceful calm. He looked around the room at the humans, confused and disoriented as they slowly came out of the fog they had been trapped in, the source of their enslavement gone, and with it, the were slowly freed, their minds returning through the lifting haze. He slowly walked over to the edge of the room and bent down to pick up Beldorion's lightsaber, the heavy, massive hilt just over half his size. It didn't look quite so big in the hands of the Hutt it was made for.

His gaze drifted around the cavern as the people slowly began to panic, their hands quickly moving to cover their nudity and quietly asking the others what had happened. Occasionally, he would get a call of thanks, a sob of gratitude, which the warrior returned with gentle reassurance that they would all be going home shortly, the people sobbing with relief when they heard the familiar, gentle lit of Mando'a on his tongue, the people of the lost trade ship the first to come out of the haze since they had been under the Hutt's control for the shortest amount of time, though there were many others who were still recovering. Far too many people for his ship, which was nearly half a day's walk from their present location.

With the quiet reassurance that he would be back, the Mandalorian walked out of the cave to reach the open air where he could get a signal to his comlink and call Mandalore for a rescue ship. As he stepped out into the open air, he breathed deeply, the change in the air noticeable even through his helmet's filter. A gentle breeze blew over the hillside, and when he looked up into the perpetual dusk of Nam Chorios, the sky was a vibrant orange, free of the storm clouds that had before obscured the view.

* * *

The ship had docked in Sundari's main spaceport, a thriving, bustling harbor alive with trade ships coming and going with imports and exports, with consular cruisers transporting dignitaries and politicians on goodwill missions and political visits to any number of their allied worlds, with smaller personal ships stopping by to rest and refuel on their way to other destinations, with any number of the numerous starliners filled with beings that came to enjoy Mandalore's thriving tourism industry. War had ravaged the Mandalore system, but now, eight years after the war's conclusion, the reign of the peaceful New Mandalorians had brought peace and prosperity to their broken system, and Mandalore was thriving.

The capital of Sundari, ravaged and nearly completely destroyed by the war's most brutal campaigns, had been completely reformed, built from the ground up into a city that was more art than architecture, a stunning creation of Mandalorian Cubist design in strong, dark Mandalorian iron and beautiful inlays of blue and green glass. It served as a stark contrast to the ravished world they lived on, the city encased in a biodome in order to survive, to harsh, toxic deserts of Mandalore rendered inhospitable in since the Mandalorian Wars thousands of years ago, the last resort of a desperate Republic led by Jedi Knights to cull the tide of the warrior Mandalorians as they swept across the galaxy. But now, Mandalore's warrior ways were behind them, the rule of their pacifist regime leading them into a new age of peace and prosperity, and the rebuilt capital of beautiful Sundari reflected that better than anywhere else.

A full compliment of guards were waiting for them when the ship settled down on the dock's upper deck, usually reserved for visiting dignitaries and guests of Sundari Palace, but the warrior had insisted, and his request was quickly granted, the lower traffic of the private dock more suited to properly caring for the traumatized victims of Beldorion the Hutt. He stood by and watched as soldiers and medics and relief workers and volunteers rushed on to the ship to help the people off and transport them to the appropriate care facilities where they would be treated until they were ready to return home, on Mandalore for some, but others had come to be on Nam Chorios in similar fashion to the circumstances leading up to the warrior venturing out there for rescue. They had been travelers, lured by happenstance and bad timing to the planet where they would crash and be enslaved. But it was over now. They were going home.

" _There_  you are!" a warm, deep voice called from behind him, and the warrior quickly turned, looked down the dock and saw a tall, imposing figure with long, graying hair taking long, slow, even strides toward him, the man wearing a long, brown cloak and a soft, cream colored robe, and without missing a beat, the warrior quickly moved to meet the man. "I've spent weeks looking for you," the man said when the Mandalorian clasped his hand and pulled him into a quick, tight hug. "You're becoming a hard man to find."

"I've been busy, Qui-Gon," the Mandalorian said as he released the Jedi and he took off his helmet, a bright smile on a handsome face lightly dusted with stubble and bright blue eyes touched with speckles of green and silver that shone with intelligence and kindness. He ran a hand through thick blond hair matted down and mused from extensive time within the helmet, the sheen of red strands among the gold shining in the light of the sun. "I didn't stay here to live a life of luxury, I stayed to  _work_."

"Among  _other_  things, I'm sure..." Qui-Gon said with a wry smile, a point that the warrior quickly conceded with a small, shallow bow.

"What can I say? Making the galaxy a better place is hard work. You can hardly blame me for taking what pleasures I can from the life I chose."

"I have  _never_  blamed you for that," Qui-Gon said softly. "Your choice wasn't an easy one. It took a substantial amount of courage to leave behind everything you ever knew. I'm not sure I could have ever brought myself to do it." A swift, sharp tug on his cloak brought the Jedi's attention away from the Mandalorian, and the warrior looked down at Qui-Gon's side to see a small boy looking up at the Master, his blond hair cut short and his blue eyes wide as he stared in absolute, breathless wonder at the city around him. Like the Jedi, he wore soft, cream colored robes and simple, brown boots, and beside his left ear was the tiniest stub of a tight braid, no more than two or three woven strands long that didn't so much hang as stick out awkwardly beside the lobe.

"Qui-Gon..." the Mandalorian said, his voice light and amused and lightly teasing. "What is  _that_?"

" _This_ ," Qui-Gon said, bending down to gently push the young boy before the warrior, "is my new Padawan, Anakin Skywalker." Qui-Gon knelt behind the boy, his hands on small, thin shoulders. "Anakin, this was my last Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"A Padawan!" Obi-Wan cried, laughing good-naturedly as he knelt down to bring himself eye level with the boy. "It's about time, you've been too long without a student to talk at."

"I hear that enough from the Council, I don't need to hear it from you as well," Qui-Gon said with a roll of his eyes. "Though I can't say the Masters were entirely... _accepting_  of my choice."

"You were a  _Jedi_?!" Anakin asked excitedly before Obi-Wan could ask for clarification, and he turned his attention to the wide-eyed child, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his lips when he felt a comforting, familiar ache in his chest. Young Anakin's features were not quite sharp enough, his colors slightly too dark, but the boy could still have easily passed as his own son.

"I wasn't a Jedi, no, but I was in training to be one," Obi-Wan quietly explained, observing the boy carefully and taking note of his bearing, the minuscule braid, each deeply felt emotion that passed unrestrained over his features, the excitement and wonder in his eyes. This was no Jedi youngling. This was something different entirely. It was no wonder Qui-Gon's choice had displeased the Council. "I was seventeen when I left the Order. A Padawan, like yourself." He chuckled softly when a wide, excited grin cracked the boy's face and he felt the surge of the Force around the boy, moving with his emotions and betraying a deep, unyielding empathy that lent itself to swiftly formed and deep attachments. He was  _connected_ , deeply integrated in the Force that pulsed within him, either unwilling or unable to stand apart as the Jedi were meant to.

"But...why?" the boy asked, his delight replaced with pensive confusion and a deeply inquisitive expression. "The Jedi are... _so awesome_! Why would you ever want to leave?"

"Well..." Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, a small, nostalgic smile on his lips. "I was asked to."

"That's it?" the boy asked, his nose wrinkling as he considered this. "Someone just asked you to and you left? Just like that?"

"Well,  _no_ , nothing is ever so simple as that," Obi-Wan calmly explained. "But the long and the short of it was I was asked to stay. My path diverged, and I allowed the Force to take me down the one I otherwise would not have walked."

"Sounds impulsive," Anakin said, a knowing, almost cocky smile on his lips as he crossed his arms and looked up at his Master for approval, and Qui-Gon affectionately ruffled his hair with a sigh.

"As you continue on with your training, you may one day come to understand, my Padawan. You are still young."

"How did you come to be with the Jedi?" Obi-Wan asked thoughtfully, his head tilted slightly to the side as he observed the boy, watched pride fill him as he lifted his chest up high.

"I was a slave on Tatooine. Master Qui-Gon found me and saved me! He said I have what it takes to become a Jedi Knight!"

"Oh?" Obi-Wan asked, a wry smirk coming to his lips. "So a strange old man finds you, tells you he will make you a Jedi Knight, and you just  _went_  with him?" His smirk grew wider when Anakin's expression became petulant. He was going to be a  _difficult_  student. "Sounds  _impulsive_ , if you ask me."

"You don't earn any points by winning a battle of wits with a ten year old, Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon said with a sigh. "The Force brought me to him during my last mission, if you must know, and I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to free him."

"Tatooine, hmm?" Obi-Wan mused as he stroked his chin, observing the young boy. "The people there are lorded over by Jabba the Hutt, are they not?"

"Y-yeah..." Anakin muttered, suddenly wriggling uncomfortably, his eyes averted, a nerve struck. His old life was not far behind him, and it clung to him like a shadow, fear of the Hutt permeating deeply inside him.

"...you know..." Obi-Wan whispered as he put his hand on Anakin's shoulder, his eyes darting covertly to the sides to make sure nobody was listening in. "I just got back from a mission to save a bunch of people from a Hutt that enslaved them."

"Y-you did?" Anakin asked, his eyes wide and frightened, his little heart beating quickly, and Obi-Wan nodded slightly and squeezed his shoulder, flashing him a reassuring smile.

"I did. He was  _Force sensitive_. A former Jedi that succumbed to darkness and used his talents to subdue and enslave people."

"W-what happened?" Anakin asked in a small, frightened whisper, and Obi-Wan smiled, looking up quickly at Qui-Gon, the Jedi paying just as rapt attention as his student.

"I  _killed_  him," Obi-Wan said, grinning when the fear in the boy was replaced with awe. "We fought and I ended his evil and freed the people he enslaved. They're safe here on Mandalore now."

"R-really?"

"Really," Obi-Wan said, pointing behind him at the small starship that sat beside the relief ship. "I have his lightsaber in my ship. I was going to go to Coruscant to deliver it to the Jedi, but since you're here...well, I suppose you can just take it back with you."

"...I-I didn't think a Hutt could be killed," Anakin said breathlessly. "Jabba's been around for so long, and he's done so many awful things, and I thought..." With a shivering breath, he looked at Obi-Wan, his eyes wide and pleading. "You freed slaves from a Hutt..." he whispered softly. "Maybe...c-could you save my mother?"

"Anakin..." Qui-Gon quietly admonished, and the boy's gaze fell to the ground.

"I-I know...I know..." Anakin said with a sigh, and Obi-Wan felt his heart ache, the unhappiness of a child a thing he had always had a soft spot for, a spot made even softer when he became a father himself.

"I'll look into it. Alright?" Obi-Wan said kindly, giving the child's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, and he smiled as the boy wiped his sleeve across his eyes and flashed him a shy, grateful look. "I'll get the details from Qui-Gon later and see what I can do." Without warning, the boy threw his arms around Obi-Wan's neck, his face pressed against the fine, cold armor covering his chest. With a soft smile, Kenobi placed a comforting hand on the child's back, his long fingers stroking his thin, narrow shoulder blades when he felt the tiny shoulders shake with the attempt to bite back the overwhelming emotions that churned within him. Qui-Gon had always been a champion of the downtrodden, and Anakin Skywalker was no different. A slave boy that the Jedi Master had seen as so much more, and no doubt against the wishes of the Council, Qui-Gon made it his responsibility to guide the boy to become what he knew he could be.

"How's your family, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked softly, and with a sigh, he released Anakin and rose, the young Padawan quickly taking the Master's hand, his awe-struck gaze returning to look in wonder at the city beyond the spaceport.

"Well," Obi-Wan said, his face practically glowing for a moment before he shrugged and brushed it off. "Busy, of course, but very well. There's always something to be done in Sundari."

"I should like to see them before we leave," Qui-Gon said with a smile. "I've always been fond of your wife."

"Yes, me too," Obi-Wan said with a grin, which quickly faded as he scrutinized the Jedi Master. "Why have you come to see me, Qui-Gon? Surely not for a social visit, and I doubt you'd make the trip to show off your new Padawan."

"Not at all," the Master said, the weary lines of his face becoming grim as he drew closer to his former student. "As it turns out, the Jedi find themselves in need of your help once again. Something has..." He looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the guards, the dock workers, the medical staff, the arriving dignitaries, and Obi-Wan could sense his immediate discomfort. "... _happened_ ," he concluded vaguely. "Something that the Jedi feel is very much in line with your area of expertise."

"Hunting criminals and rogue Force sensitives is hardly something I am exclusively capable of," Obi-Wan scoffed. "That  _is_  what the Jedi do, is it not?"

"Perhaps once, but it is becoming more difficult to do so these days while we stand at the beck and call of the Senate," Qui-Gon grumbled. "Especially now with so much tension in the galaxy. You aren't bound to the rules and whims of the Republic, you can do things we can't."

"That has never stopped you before, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan scoffed slightly, the wry smirk on his lips fading when he followed Qui-Gon's gaze down to the young boy at his side. "...understood." Obi-Wan drew up tall and handed Anakin his helmet, the boy smiling brightly as he looked over the beautiful sheen of the blue and white. "This isn't a good place to talk. Come, we'll go home, you can see the family, and we'll discuss what happened."

"Thank you, Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon said softly, his hand on the young boy's back. "Come, Anakin." Gripping the helmet tighter and keeping close to his Master's side. Qui-Gon and Anakin followed the Mandalorian into the beautiful city, the man leading them toward the elegant spires of Sundari Palace.


	3. Clan Kryze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! I did it!
> 
> Alright, so you guys REALLY like this thing so far, so I'm gonna bump it up in my priorities. The list is still topped with From Flames, I Soar, but I'll be thinking on this one a lot more than I was planning, since you guys seem to enjoy it so much.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think, thoughts, ideas, stuff you want to see, blah blah blah. Seriously, that's the only gauge I have on what you guys are enjoying. Help yourselves have a better story by letting me know. Enjoy, lovelies!

"Sundari becomes more beautiful every time I am here, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said quietly, Anakin riding on his shoulders and looking in awe at the palace before them as they walked across the long courtyard plaza toward the ornate glass steps leading up to the palace's main entrance. Obi-Wan's chest almost seemed to swell with pride, a slight, peaceful smile on his lips as his eyes drifted over the children playing by the central fountain, the couples resting under elegant, red leafed trees with snow white bark, the soldiers that drilled in front of the large mural at the base of the courtyard's second level, a depiction of the ancient Mandalorians in battle with an unknown foe, one of the last standing relics from their history that remained standing after the war ravished the city.

"We put a lot of work into the city..." he said softly, silently nodding to soldiers they passed by when they stopped what they were doing and saluted. " _Well_ , I didn't..." he modestly corrected. "Day after day of delegations and volunteer committees and project management, meetings and community planning and social programs and..." He waved his hand in the air, searching for the right word. "... _politics_. Endless, endless work with a proud and stubborn people, as you well know. I'm suited for none of it, I just keep the peace."

"I'd like to remind you that you left the Jedi to  _become_  one of those proud and stubborn people," Qui-Gon gently teased. "Obi-Wan Kenobi of Clan Kryze..."

"I  _do_  like the ring of it..." Obi-Wan said with a sigh. "And you always said I was stubborn. It would seem I fit right in."

"I seem to recall always saying that you'd make a fine Jedi Master..." Qui-Gon mused as he stroked his chin, a small smirk tugging on the edge of his lips as he felt Obi-Wan's distinctly unamused gaze upon him. "Although...I  _suppose_  happiness does become you."

" _Oh_!" Anakin cried from atop his Master's shoulders, his hands balling into Qui-Gon's long hair and his legs kicking against the Jedi's chest as he flailed, his hand extended and pointing toward a long building to the left of the stairs they were climbing, a steady stream of Mandalorian soldiers coming and going through a wide glass door. "Is  _that_  where you live!?" the Padawan asked excitedly, the same question he had asked over and over during the past half hour as they made their way through the city.

"What, the barracks?" Obi-Wan asked, pointing at the building, and when the boy nodded excitedly, he chuckled softly and shook his head. "No, I don't live there. The barracks house the soldiers of Mandalore. I'm no soldier."

"...yes you are," Anakin insisted. "You're wearing armor!"

"Not all who wear armor are soldiers, Anakin, just as not all who fight are killers." He looked up at the boy and flashed him a small, understanding smile. "This galaxy isn't made of black and white, but shades of gray."

"...what about colors?" Anakin asked innocently, and Obi-Wan stared at him, gawking for a moment and uncertain of what to say before he laughed softly.

"Watch out for that one, Qui-Gon. I believe all the trouble I spared you young Anakin here is going to pay you back with tenfold."

"What, you think you were an  _easy_  student?" Qui-Gon asked in disbelief. "Letting you go was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. And do I even have to  _mention_  the turmoil you caused me while we were fighting here?"

" _Please_..." Obi-Wan hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes darting up to look at Anakin. "Not in front of the children!"

"Always so modest..." Qui-Gon said with a sigh, the man stopping on a wide, square landing on the grand staircase before the steps turned to meet the mirroring staircase at the top of the second level landing, the two joining to become the massive grand staircase leading into the palace. "Is all that out there new?" Qui-Gon asked, pointing out to a vast, expansive park on the lower levels of the city.

"Not new, no," Obi-Wan said, frowning as he looked the Jedi over. "...when was the last time you visited Mandalore?"

"Three years ago, I suppose," the Jedi said with a shrug, the man chuckling softly when Obi-Wan frowned in clear disagreement. "Yes, Obi-Wan, the past few years, every time we've seen each other has been on Coruscant after your contracts for the Jedi."

" _No_ , it can't have been that long!" Obi-Wan insisted as they continued to climb the steps. "What about-"

"That was last year, Obi-Wan, and you came to  _Coruscant_  to report that you had destroyed the Jedi hunter," Qui-Gon said softly. "And before you say anything else, the one before that was the assassin, and that was also on Coruscant."

"My Lord!" a soldier called to them as they reached the second level courtyard, kneeling as they approached, and Qui-Gon felt Anakin's hands tighten in his hair, the boy leaning forward and looking at the Mandalorians with rapt attention. "It pleases me to see you returned to us safely," the guard said, the man stranding up when Obi-Wan gestured for him to rise, his more ornate armor denoting a soldier with rank. "I hear the rescue was a success."

"A successful rescue and a successful hunt, Captain," Obi-Wan said softly. "The crew from our lost ship was enslaved by a corrupted Force sensitive, but...he won't be a problem anymore."

"We expect no less from you, my Lord," the Captain said, his head tilting to observe the tall man and the child that accompanied his superior. "Shall I inform the Duchess that you've arrived?"

"Please do, Captain." With a swift salute, the soldier ran off, and Obi-Wan motioned for them to follow him up the grand staircase and toward the doors of the palace. "Three years..." Obi-Wan muttered, a small, secretive smile on his lips. "That's a long time here on Mandalore. Quite a lot has changed." From Qui-Gon's shoulders, Anakin gasped softly, his wide eyes looking down at Obi-Wan as h pointed straight ahead of them.

"Is  _that_  where you live?" he asked breathlessly, the boy practically beaming when the former Jedi glanced up at him with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

"It is."

"... _you live in a palace_?!" Anakin said excitedly, sliding off Qui-Gon's shoulders when they reached the top of the stairs and the heavy doors swung open to admit them, the boy tightly grabbing hold of Qui-Gon's hand as he padded along beside him, his eyes wide and excited as he looked around the extravagant palace, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but watch him. Everything was new to Anakin Skywalker, everything was wondrous and beautiful and awe-inspiring, as if he were seeing everything for the first time, which he was. It was a beautiful thing, experiencing the discovery of the world around them through the eyes of one who had seen so little, and it was a thing that he would never grow tired of. The galaxy was always new and wonderful and beautiful when in the company of someone who had not yet been left jaded by life.

The sound of their slow, measured steps and Anakin's fast, excited ones echoed through the long, high halls of the palace, the young Padawan taking in the masterful stonework, the intricate carvings and inlays on the walls, the fine, beautiful glasswork on the large, open windows, the white alabaster stone reflecting the light and making the room feel bright and open and inviting, the regal blue runners and drapes lending the room an elegance and comfort that was reflected in the city built around it. It was beautiful, a reflection of the opulence and grandeur of the new, peaceful Mandalore, all in the colors of the ruling Clan Kryze, the same colors that Obi-Wan's armor had been crafted in, making it look as though he had never belonged anywhere else, a matching piece to the regency of the Mandalorians.

They took a slow, meandering pace, both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon quiet as they reveled in the peace of a place that had been rubble and dust when they first arrived in the war zone that was Mandalore nine years ago. Anakin was neither silent, not contemplative, his excitement driving him to point out every painting, every mural, every statue, every thing of beauty he could find, which the Jedi and the Mandalorian were quickly discovering was everything, the entire palace the likes of which a slave boy from Tatooine could not have even dreamed of. When he wasn't drawing attention to every plant in the gardens and every chandelier hanging from the high ceilings, he was trying to guess what exactly Obi-Wan did at the palace, what function he served, why he was allowed to live in such luxury, and Kenobi answered him with calm silence, amused smiles, and slight shakes of his head so the boy knew to keep guessing.

It was a gave that the ten year old quite enjoyed, despite the frustration of never quite getting the right of it, though Obi-Wan's calm, gentle silence was warm and accepting and welcoming, delighting in the boy's thought process and reasoning and never once judging him for having landed at the incorrect conclusion. It was almost a reward in and of itself to watch the man's eyes light up, for that kind, amused smile to touch his lips, for the soft-spoken, accented voice to muse at the new role the boy had placed him in. The guard had called the man Lord, a thing that Anakin had decided was an honorific, since Kenobi got his hands dirty, since he wore armor and fought like a soldier, since he had been a Jedi once and like most Jedi, he knew little about the circumstances of his birth.

Anakin had assigned Obi-Wan a hundred possible professions, from chef to General, from bodyguard to elevated janitor, from mechanic to gardener, from bounty hunter to pilot, each one more amusing than the last to the young former Jedi. And he was  _young_ , not just youthful, only just out of his teenage years, by Anakin's guess, certainly no older than thirty. As they walked slowly through the palace, Anakin found himself drawing closer to the peaceful warrior, his fingers remaining tightly and securely clutching Qui-Gon's hand, but Obi-Wan's natural ease made the young Padawan feel safe and protected. He could trust this man, and for the boy who had been a former slave, subject to the cruelty of men since for as long as he could remember, that was the most important thing of all.

Anakin had to squint against the brightness of the light filtering in through the wall of ornate, beautiful windows that ran from the polished alabaster floor to the high, vaulted ceilings when they passed under an arched doorway into the palace's throne room, a room that, if even possible, was more beautiful than the rest. He slowed his excited pace as he looked around the room, both austere and elegant in the pure, perfect white of the stone and the simple beauty of the crystal clear glass between the cast iron designs of the windows. They walked toward an elevated platform, five tapered steps leading up to a long platform on which two ornate thrones sat close together, the high backed seats crafted from finely cut, glowing stones that seemed to dance like fire with reds and oranges and golds, the seats themselves carved from the same glossy white stone the rest of the room was built in. Guards stood sentry beside the room's glass doors leading out to a veranda overlooking the city Mandalore's leader ruled over and beside the two disappointingly empty thrones, and Anakin began looking around for Mandalore's missing rulers.

They had only just made it to the base of the thrones when a small door at the side of the room cracked open and before any of them were even able turn to look, a woman in blue barreled into Obi-Wan, the man gasping in surprise as he was nearly knocked to the ground. He caught his footing just before he fell, his arms wrapped tightly around the woman who clung tightly to him, his fingers sliding into silken, pale blond hair that fell just below the shoulders, the woman's face pressed against the armor on his chest and her hands tightly clutching at his back.

She wore a dress in light blue and white, the fine, sky blue fabric running from straps that fell just below her shoulder to trail out behind her, falling just short of touching the ground, the blue falling around her like a cloak that parted just below her breasts to reveal the shimmering white slip beneath that hugged a rounded hip. She was pressed so close to the Mandalorian warrior that there was no space between them, and though the man's strong arms enveloped her and concealed her from a good view, Anakin could tell that she was beautiful, possessing of fine, sharp features that bespoke of nobility and a bearing he could only call regal. Like Padmé.

"Ehn tuur, Obi," the woman said softly, her voice trembling with emotion, "cuyir chaaj'yc munit'at cuyir ures'gar."  _Three days is too long to be without you_.

"Tion'tuur kis'wa, ner kar'ta cuyir ratiin ti'gar, ner kar'taylir darasuum."  _Even when parted, my heart os always with you, my love_. The woman leaned back slightly, a small, muted smile on her lips as she touched Obi-Wan's cheek, the man instinctively leaning into her palm and covering her hand with his own. Crystal blue eyes slowly drifted away from Obi-Wan's face, widening slightly as if she was just noticing that they weren't alone, and a bright, easy smile spread across her face, quickly untangling herself from Obi-Wan's arms and throwing herself against the Jedi Master, the man happily catching her.

"Qui-Gon Jinn, I have  _missed_  you!" she said, clinging tightly to the Jedi even when he frowned, a look of muted confusion on his face as he pried her off of him and held her at arm's length. It did nothing to wipe the smile from the woman's face. "It has been far too long since I have seen you, you are simply  _awful_  for staying away," she gently chided. "You are always welcome on Mandalore, you know that."

"I confess that I am still recovering from your war, you and your people bounce back faster than I do." The frown fell away from his face as his eyes slowly moved over her, his chest filling with warmth when he looked down and confirmed what he had felt earlier, the thin woman's waist thickened with noticeable swelling, her flowing dress making it appear smaller than it was, but failing entirely to conceal it. "Oh, Satine, look at you..." Qui-Gon said almost breathlessly. "You're pregnant!" His eyes shot to Obi-Wan, a wry smirk on his lips as he stared at him almost accusingly, and the former Jedi averted his eyes, a faint flush staining his cheeks as he ran his hand through his hair. " _Again_."

" _I know_!" Satine said with a roll of her eyes, a pout on her lips in an expression of mock irritation as she looked back at her lover. "With how busy we have been, you'd think we wouldn't be able to find the time, but  _somehow_ , Obi-Wan always seems to  _make time_."

"I don't know how it happens, I swear it!" Kenobi said, holding his hands up before him in surrender, as if the gesture would ward off the accusing glares of the dangerous pair in cahoots with each other. "Are you  _sure_  Almec hasn't been somewhere he shouldn't?"

"Mm,  _Almec_  doesn't leave me alone for days at a time so he can traipse around the galaxy being a  _contract killer_ ," Satine said coyly, a teasing edge to her voice made all the sharper for the long finger she dragged along Obi-Wan's jawline. The slightest flash of something protective and wanting darkened Obi-Wan's eyes, the clear blue of the sea suddenly becoming stormy, and a slight, wicked grin touched Satine's lips, the reaction clearly the intention of the biting, teasing jab. It vanished a moment later, replaced by a soft laugh and the light, good humor that permeated his entire being as he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. "How I have missed you, my Knight..."

"Anakin," Qui-Gon said quietly, the boy jumping at the mention of his name, his gaze diverted from looking on with awe at the beautiful woman and the former Jedi he was quickly growing to admire. "This is Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore."

"...Duchess?" he gasped, looking wide-eyed at the woman. " _Duchess_!?" His gaze rapidly darted between Satine and Obi-Wan, his jaw slack as he pointed at the bemused Kenobi. " _That's_  your wife!?" Obi-Wan responded by bringing the woman's hand to his lips, his eyes locked with hers. "You live in the palace because you're married to  _her_?! B-because you're..." Anakin's chest swelled and he stood to his full height, small for a boy his age. "Because you're  _King of Mandalore_?!"

"U-uh..." Obi-Wan stammered, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck and shooting Satine a quick, pleading look as she stiffed laughter. "N-no, I'm not a King..."

"A  _Duke_?!"

"No, not exactly..."

"That's your throne?!" Anakin half asked, half declared as he pointed a finger at the ornate throne.

"W-well,  _technically_ -"

" _Oh my Stars_!"

"I like to think of myself as more of a garbage man, really..." Obi-Wan muttered. "The trash doesn't take itself out...and it happens to be violent and dangerous when you leave it alone too long. And it  _smells_..." The muffled echo of swift, light footsteps echoed around them, the pounding vibrations coming from behind the wall, and from the door beside the throne, three children came sprinting out, two young boys followed by a younger girl, running as fast as their legs could carry them. Obi-Was swiftly dropped to one knee, his arms extended, and the children crashed into him, Kenobi easily scooping the three of them into his arms as they chattered excitedly in smooth, accented Mando'a. A moment later, an extremely worn and haggard Prime Minister Almec came stumbling out the door, his hand tightly grabbing the wrist of a furiously pulling toddler and a baby too young to walk held tightly against his chest, the high pitched screeches of the toddler echoing throughout the room.

All the children sported hair that ranged from pale blond to red-streaked gold, their eyes the clear, light crystal blue to the bright blues of the sea, all handsome faces and elegant bone structures, all hopelessly skinny with flushed pale skin. Anakin stared in wonder at the children, all younger than him, the eldest no more than seven, the young Padawan torn between running to play with them and keeping by his Master's side. He decided that sticking by Qui-Gon was safest when the second largest child, a boy with light blue eyes and hair that shone strawberry blond, took Obi-Wan's helmet and placed it on his head, and the eldest raised his hand in the air, lifting the helmet off his complaining brother's head with the Force.

"Oh,  _Obi-Wan_..." Qui-Gon drawled, his eyebrow arched as he looked at his former student, the toddler lifted in his arms and standing close to his wife as she cradled the baby. "You  _have_  been busy..."

"I  _told_  you he's incorrigible..." Satine said softly, a gentle smile on her lips as she kept a watchful eye on her children as they played.

"The last time I was here, you only had  _three_  children."

"I told you a great deal has changed," Obi-Wan said, a wolfish grin as he looked over at Almec, the man sitting on the steps to the thrones, hie head jerking up as he desperately tried to keep from nodding off. "Hey, Almec!" Obi-Wan called, and the man started awake, eyes wide and disoriented for a moment before he turned his gaze on the grinning Kenobi. "Master Jinn wants to know where all these children are coming from. You haven't been touching my wife, have you?"

"My Lord..." Almec said wearily, his eyes closing and his head dropping to his chest, his pale hair disheveled. "I've been vomited on three times today. Please don't do this now..."

"Most of my people were killed in the war, Qui-Gon," Satine said quietly, clutching the baby girl closer to her. "Over half the population of Mandalore, slaughtered in a pointless conflict. Entire clans exterminated, not a single family is whole anymore..." Obi-Wan drew closer to her, his hand on her shoulder drawing her closer and his other hand gently stroking the swell of her stomach, his eyes closed as he felt the child within her gently kick in response to his presence. "So I instituted a government sanctioned repopulation program. We're providing funding and support for large families. And as their Duchess..." She smiled softly, her fingers absently running through Obi-Wan's hair. "I have always tried to lead by example."

"Six children is quite a lot, Satine," Qui-Gon said, watching as the older ones ran around the throne room, the toddler padding after his siblings and mimicking their hand gestures as they channeled the Force. "Do you mean to repopulate Mandalore on your own?"

"I was the last of Clan Kryze, Qui-Gon," she said, the touch of old pain in her voice from a wound that hadn't healed quite right. "Since my sister renounced her clan name to join with those  _murderers_ , I'm the only one left who can rebuild."

"Your people have a history of adoption," the Jedi said. "You aren't a big woman, Satine, you don't need to endure the hardship of carrying and bearing all these children when you could bring in a child in need of a home."

"There are no children in need of a home these days, Qui-Gon, we have a  _shortage_." She smiled softly and stroked the armor on Obi-Wan's chest and gently pressed her lips to the edge of his jaw. "In any case, I am young, and I am strong, and I  _want_  to have Obi-Wan's children. I can support a large family. I...I-I  _want_  a large family. We'll stop when we're ready."

"I suppose that's all that matters," Qui-Gon said, looking away from the children and back to the calm and contented parents. "Have you had any difficulty because of their..." His gaze shifted sideways toward the guards in the room and to the steps where Almec now lay sleeping. "... _talents_."

"It would be easier if the Mandalorians weren't so suspicious of people with the Force," Obi-Wan said with a small laugh, light and easy, but he grew quickly awkward when Satine's eyes fell to the ground, the woman distinctly uncomfortable as she clutched the tiny baby girl to her and kissed her forehead. Obi-Wan pulled her into a loose embrace, the woman resting her head on his chest. "The children are fine..." he whispered. "I am training them in the ways of the Force, their talents have never,  _ever_  been a burden. A connection to the Force is a beautiful thing."

"They all have the talent," Qui-Gon said, a statement, not a question, and Obi-Wan silently nodded.

"It's made things difficult for Satine," Obi-Wan said in barely a whisper. "The mistrust of the Jedi runs deep in the Mandalorians, and the day after the war ended, she married me, and it wasn't long before we started having little Force sensitive children. We tried to hide it, but as you know, it's a difficult thing to conceal. None of us are Jedi, of course, but it's difficult for the Mandalorians to see the distinction."

"I understand..." Qui-Gon said, stroking the beard on his chin for a moment before he asked, "May I ask how this was resolved? A Jedi sitting next to Mandalore's regent sounds like cause to start fighting again."

"It was mostly Satine," Obi-Wan said proudly, perking up and swiftly kissing her cheek. "She earned the trust of the people. She  _did_  end the war, after all, she's a hero to many."

"But you're not," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan's lips pressed into a thin line.

"No, I'm not..." he muttered. "For as much as they trusted her, they mistrusted me, and it made things difficult for her." Obi-Wan reached behind him and took his lightsaber off his belt, spinning the silver cylinder on his palm. "And then I killed the fallen Jedi Knight, Ambaln." Obi-Wan scoffed softly, his eyes drifting to the wide eyed Anakin, and he smiled sardonically. "The Jedi that kills Jedi. I know, I know..." he said apologetically when Satine glared at him. "Mandalorians have moved beyond their violent past...in  _practice_ , but changing a cultural identity happens over generations, my love, not years, and killing Jedi is  _tradition_  to them.

"You have developed a reputation for killing Dark Jedi..." Qui-Gon whispered, his voice heavy and suddenly filled with melancholy. "Which is why I'm here." The change in the Force was sudden and jarring, the change in the Jedi's disposition so severe that Satine noticed, her hand tightly intertwining with Obi-Wan's. The two parents looked at their children playing in the hall, and Obi-Wan sharply whistled.

" _Ade_!" The children all stopped here they were and looked at their father. "Slanar dayn bal haili cetare'te tuur ogir cuyir su'nau." A swift, excited chorus of gleeful shouting came from the children, and they quickly ran out of the ornate glass door and out onto the garden veranda that overlooked Sundari. With a snap of his fingers, the guards stationed around the throne room followed the children out to the balcony to stand guard over them while they played, and Satine walked from Obi-Wan's side to hand the baby to Almec, the Duchess quietly thanking the groggy man as he cradled the child and brought her out the door they came through, back into the personal quarters of Mandalore's royal family.

"Anakin..." Obi-Wan said, kneeling before the boy. "Why don't you go out and play with the other children? My eldest son isn't fluent in Basic, but he knows enough to communicate." Obi-Wan smiled faintly when the boy gasped, excitement and yearning in his eyes. "He may be able to teach you a little about the Force as well." Anakin looked up at Qui-Gon, and when the Master nodded, Anakin was off, sprinting across the room and running out the door to join the other children.

"My deepest condolences..." Qui-Gon whispered when the Padawan's excited chattering drifted through the air of the open door, producing a holodisc from his robe and handing the device to Obi-Wan. Looking at the device in his hand, he quietly offered Satine his arm and led the woman to her throne, his hand supporting her as she gently lowered herself down. Obi-Wan ignored his own seat and instead sat on the arm of Satine's throne, activating the holodisc and waiting silently as the recording loaded.

It was a security recording from a large energy reactor, the lights on the large, spiraling machines pulsing as they worked, and down on the narrow walkways a figure dressed in black ran, a double bladed lightsaber in his hands, and a moment later, he was pursued by two Jedi, their own lightsabers struck and leaving trails of light behind them as they ran. The footage cut, the reactors gone and replaced with the view from another camera, the small figures suddenly much larger as they ran into the room. Obi-Wan recognized the Jedi Knight Kit Fisto, the usually smiling Nautolan's face focused and serious, but he  _knew_  the other Jedi. Bant Eerin had been a friend of his when he was a Jedi growing up in the Temple, and while the likes of Quinlan Vos and Luminara Unduli would always be the ones he considered himself closest to, Bant and him had spent a great deal of time together because their Masters had been  _especially_  fond of each other.

Even without Qui-Gon's condolences, Obi-Wan could feel something cold in the pit of his stomach, something very,  _very_  wrong about what he was watching. There was something dangerous about the way their black robed opponent moved, something athletic and graceful and savage, like a predator, like a hunter, and for all the fallen Jedi and Dark Side acolytes he had faced over the past eight years, none moved quite like this creature. He fought against two Jedi, though he may as well have only been fighting one, the creature vaulting and leaping over them to keep one Jedi always in the way of the other, and when that failed, swift, powerful kicks to the chest or savage pushes with the Force sent the less practiced Padawan out of the way, forcing her to quickly scramble over consoles and electronics and generators to rejoin her Master.

The red blade spun quickly, a flurry of burning, slashing plasma arching through the air as his saber met with the Jedi's. A swift duck under a hard cleave from the Padawan, and the creature planted his hands on the ground and kicked her in the chest, her body hitting one of the electric generators, and with the Master isolated once again, the black robed man jumped, his tightly controlled flipping allowing the Nautolan's blade to pass harmlessly under him. As he landed in a crouch, the creature pushed off the ground just as Kit Fisto brought his blade down, and the slashing red weapon found its mark, striking the Jedi in the neck and slicing through, the weapon nearly decapitating the Nautolan Knight.

Bant rose to her feet, pain and fury and hate on her face as she grasped the saber in both hands and swung at the man that slew her Master, the red blade easily blocking the heavy strikes, the Jedi's anger unbalancing her, but the creature's fury only made him stronger. The blade spinning rapidly in his hand, the man swung up, the blade still spinning, and the rapid strikes on the underside of her blade sent Bant off-balance. Before she could regain her footing and swing the blade down, the creature swiftly changed the angle of his spinning blade, guiding Bant's lightsaber down with her own cutting strike, and the creatures weapon sliced across the Mon Calamari's chest from shoulder to hip, a quick twist of his wrist slicing from the other shoulder and across her body, and Bant dropped lifeless to the ground.

Obi-Wan thought his heart stopped, his chest burning as he held his breath, and with a sharp, horrified gasp, Sating shut her eyes, her hand tightly clutching his arm as she laid her head in his lap, her shoulders shaking as Obi-Wan put a comforting hand in her hair. He swiftly paused the recording and zoomed in on the creature's face, cold fury written across a red face marked with tribal black tattoos, a crown of short cranial horns rising from his head, his eyes a dangerous yellow spiked through with red, the same colors he had seen on many of the Dark Side wielders he had faced in the past.

"Bant is dead?" Obi-Wan asked in a soft, shuddering voice. "When? When did this happen?  _Where_  did this happen?!"

"During the Battle of Naboo a few weeks ago," Qui-Gon whispered, his head bowed as he looked at the ground. He had seen the recording many times already. He had no need to see it again.

"A few weeks ago?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice pained and offended, and Qui-Gon met his gaze.

"As I said..." the Master whispered. "You're a hard man to find." With a deep breath, Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes narrowing as he restarted the recording, leaning in as he watched the fight once again.

"...look at the way he fights, his footwork is  _perfect_ , his style is aggressive, almost random..." Obi-Wan scoffed bitterly as he paused it, took it back a few seconds, and watched the small piece once again. "I'd say he's untrained if his movements weren't so... _fluid_. He's...malignantly graceful." With a sigh, he leaned back, resting his back on the cool stone of the throne. "I've never seen this style in practice before, not like this. The closest to its like I've seen is the exhibition matches I used to watch when Mace Windu would fight."

"You think he's Jedi trained?" Qui-Gon asked quietly, and Obi-Wan swiftly shook his head.

"No." He paused the recording on a close image of the creature's face. "Vaapad is among the most difficult forms to master, it's a state of mind, not just a combat style, and he clearly lacks that." He took a deep breath. "But he  _is_  trained, and he was trained to use that anger. This isn't Vaapad, but it  _is_  Form VII. This is  _Juyo_." Obi-Wan shook his head and bit down on his lower lip as he wracked his mind for all the battles he had fought against fallen Jedi and Dark Side practitioners over the years. "I've...never seen it used."

"I fought the creature on Tatooine," Qui-Gon said, his voice stronger than before as Obi-Wan's careful analysis helped the soothe his mind. The Masters had been arguing about the nature of what they were dealing with, but had ultimately reached the same conclusion. Qui-Gon trusted Obi-Wan's assessment more.

"And you survived?" Obi-Wan asked, the unspoken question of how that was possible hanging silently between them.

"I ran," Qui-Gon said flatly. "My ship was near, and I managed to escape. I've never felt such darkness, such cold in the Force." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he locked his gaze with Obi-Wan's. "I think he was Sith."

"Sith..." Obi-Wan muttered, his hand unconsciously moving to rest protectively over his unborn child. "Yes, perhaps. It's a distinct possibility, and it would explain his training. His form is too perfect. He has or had a Dark Side Master, to be certain, and in my experience, those are difficult to find. Sith...would explain it."

"And that's it?" Qui-Gon asked, a soft, bitter laugh in his throat. "The Sith have been gone for a thousand years, you're not going to question the impossibility of their return?"

"Can something return if it has never been truly gone?" Obi-Wan asked slyly, and he shrugged when a faint, sardonic smile crossed Qui-Gon's lips. "I care not for how impossible it is, the evidence we have says otherwise. You don't know who he is, which means he was never a Jedi, and he's  _far_  too good to have no training. I'm not saying there  _aren't_  groups out there that train people in the ways of the Dark Side, but I haven't heard of any save for the Nightsisters of Dathomir, and  _they_  don't use lightsabers." He took a deep breath and held it as he looked at the image of the furious figure before him. "I think you're right, Qui-Gon. I think he's Sith."

"Damn it..."

"So why do you need Obi-Wan?" Satine asked softly, though her tone was skeptical and cold. "If it's to identify the beast, or to get a consultation, then he has done his work, but dealing with threats like this is the job of the  _Jedi_. Obi-Wan is  _not_  a Jedi."

"Which is why we need him, I'm afraid," Qui-Gon said softly, almost sadly, and Satine bristled, her hands clutching tight on the arms of her throne and her jaw clenching as her teeth ground together. "We need your help to hunt this man, find his teacher, and destroy them both."

" _No_!" Satine shouted firmly, rising from her throne and glaring down at the Jedi from her raised platform. "No, absolutely not! Obi-Wan is a  _father_ , his family needs him! Throw the Jedi at this beast, that's what your Masters are for, is it not?!"

"Our Masters are beholden to the will of the Republic," Qui-Gon quietly explained, his tone calm and soothing in the hopes of easing the woman's stubborn anger, but it wasn't working. It had  _never_  worked. "We are sent to keep the peace and apprehend dangerous criminals, and often times, the very act of sending the Jedi out is bogged down bureaucracy and procedure. It's even harder these days with the division in the Senate with the Separatist movement..."

"If the Jedi are just sitting around, then you have  _lots_  of time to investigate this threat!" Satine hissed, and Qui-Gon sighed with irritation, not with Satine, but with the reminder of his own frustrations with the Jedi. His gaze drifted to Obi-Wan, who had been silently observing the hologram, completely separate from the conversation, his entire being relaxed despite the Duchess' irritation, though he was filled with a profound melancholy as he once again watched his friend slain by a monster with a red blade.

"We have lots of time to  _discuss_  the threat," Qui-Gon quietly corrected. "Make no mistake, we want this menace captured and apprehended, but the Republic is quickly falling apart, and our new Supreme Chancellor has us overworked in trying to hold it all together."

"If your Republic is so fragile, then perhaps a change must be made,"Satine insisted, and Qui-Gon groaned when he realized the mistake he had made. Stepping into the proverbial political ring with Duchess Satine Kryze never went well. For  _anybody_. "This is what I have been saying for years, too many voices breeds  _nothing_  but discord. The Republic-"

"This isn't about the Republic, Satine," Obi-Wan gently interrupted, holding the holoprojector before her. "It's about  _him_. The reasons why the Jedi are asking for assistance is ultimately irrelevant."

"I disagree," the Duchess hissed. "This is what the Jedi are for, hunting criminals and protecting the innocent from  _monsters_. They should have no need of you. They should  _never_  have a need of you, you aren't one of them!"

"Which is exactly why the Council has contracted him in the past," Qui-Gon said, his hands extended to placate the angry woman, but it wasn't working, her usually stubbornness only made worse by emotions that ran high and volatile within her because of the child she carried. "Perhaps it started as your husband defending his wife, his home and the peace he fought for, but in the course of doing so, he has apprehended dangerous criminals that have eluded the Jedi for  _years_ , including Jedi hunters and disciples of the Dark Side. He has a reputation, and for good reason. He is  _effective_."

"At doing  _your job_!" the Duchess snapped, her hand possessively grasping Obi-Wan's shoulder. "He isn't a Jedi anymore! I-I don't even like that he puts himself in harm's way  _at all_! And you wish him to fight a  _monster_  right out of a person's nightmares that has already killed two Jedi?!" She scoffed harshly, crossed her arms over her chest, and Qui-Gon knew the matter was done. " _No_. I will not allow it. His family needs him."

"Satine..." Qui-Gon wearily tried again. "I don't know if you understand. The Sith-"

'Don't you  _dare_  patronize me,  _Jedi_ , I know what the Sith are!" she snapped harshly, and the Master simply sighed. "My people have a  _long_  history of dealings with the Sith. I know what they are, I know what they are capable of, and I want Obi-Wan to have  _nothing_  to do with it. It's too dangerous, and he has no business in this fight! The Sith are the enemies of the  _Jedi_ , and Obi-Wan's not a Jedi, not anymore. The Sith are no threat to us. Let the Jedi deal with it."

"We just need help  _finding_  him, then," Qui-Gon pleaded, trying for a different angle. "The creature has gone to ground, there's no trace of him  _anywhere_."

"Then it sounds like you don't have a problem, Satine said coldly, and Qui-Gon groaned in frustration, his fingers gently rubbing his temples.

"Only we  _do_ , because if this thing is truly Sith, then it is  _very_  possible the Sith were never actually gone, only hiding, and when he strikes again, and he  _will_ , more people are going to die."

"To have them reveal themselves now means something has changed," Obi-Wan whispered, his eyes on the hologram as he carefully studied the creature. "There is something... _dark_  in the Force. Something...something disturbed, something  _wrong_  sitting just beneath the surface, just out of reach..." He switched the holoprojector off and looked at Qui-Gon. "Have you felt it?"

"In the presence of the Sith, I felt cold," Qui-Gon said quietly. "But that's all. I've never had the gift of your foresight." He took a deep breath the strengthen his resolve in the face of his defeat at Satine's hands, the woman still glaring at him cold and protective and possessive of the man she had fought so hard to win. "But Yoda has felt it."

"It seems to me that the tension in the Republic and the sudden appearance of a Sith Lord is just a little too convenient," Obi-Wan muttered as he slid off the arm of the throne. "If your Sith has in fact disappeared, he's no doubt preparing for his next move. The Sith have likely been hiding out of the vew of the Jedi for a thousand years, if the intricacies of his fighting style and his effectiveness are any indication. That kind of skill doesn't come from a broken chain. They Jedi won't find him unless he wants to be found."

"But you can," Qui-Gon said, the burning of a flicker of ope igniting in his chest, and Obi-Wan curtly nodded.

"I can."

"Oh,  _no_!" Satine demanded, rising to her feet. "No, I won't allow it! You are not leaving me now to go hunt the  _Sith_! You aren't even a Jedi! I will not have you make yourself a needless target, not when they're only hunting Jedi!"

"But they  _aren't_  only hunting Jedi, Satine..." Obi-Wan whispered gently, his hands lightly gripping her arms. "A Sith victory is bad for  _everyone_ , not just the Jedi. They corrupt and destroy everything they touch, as is typical when the Dark Side goes unchecked by the Light."

"An even greater reason to stay out of it, Obi!" the Duchess snapped, and a small, sad smile crossed his lips, his hand falling to rest on the swell where their child lay within her.

"And what do you suppose will happen to Force sensitives under Sith rule? They can sense the talent in others just as the Jedi can." He leaned down and kissed her forehead when cracks began to appear in her stubborn, obstinate wall, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. "Those that refuse to submit to the Dark Side will be destroyed. All the rest will be corrupted and twisted by the Dark Side. There can be no balance in the Force under Sith rule."

"I care  _nothing_  for your balance, Obi-Wan!" Satine hissed, but her anger quickly faded when Obi-Wan didn't rise to combat her, only stared at her with a look of sympathy and pity.

"What do you suppose will happen to our children?" he said, so softly it was barely audible, but to the Duchess, it felt like it was shouted. "They are  _all_  strong in the Force, they would not be ignored. You dislike it when the Jedi send envoys to try and convince us to give up our children for training, but the Sith  _won't ask_. They will just take them, turn them,  _corrupt them_ , make them into creatures of rage and hate and unbalance just like the monster in the recordings.  _Our children_ , Satine..." Obi-Wan whispered, his fingers lightly stroking his wife's cheek and wiping away the few silent tears she failed to keep from falling. "This isn't about the galaxy, or the Jedi, this is about  _our family_."

She was silent for a moment, trembling as her gaze lingered on the open door through which the delighted laughter of her children at play carried on the air, for a moment looking more small and scared than she ever had during the year Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had spent protecting her. It hardened quickly into protective anger, her eyes narrowed in anger as she glared at the two men. " _No_ ," she snapped, stepping away from Obi-Wan's grasp. "No, I won't allow it! That's all the more reason for you to stay here, to  _protect your family_! You invite trouble by looking for it, and I will  _not allow this_!" She quickly turned and fled from the room, her swift stride taking her through the entrance to their family's personal quarters, and the door closed behind her with a resounding slam, both men wincing at the harsh sound and the fury in which the Duchess left them.

"I'll talk to her, Qui-Gon..." Obi-Wan said wearily, groaning as he dropped on to his own throne, his fingers gingerly rubbing at his temples. "She'll come to see reason after she has a chance to calm down and consider all we discussed. Cooler heads will prevail. She has always believed that, and there is only one option here. She'll see it. She already does, she just  _hates it_."

"I can hardly blame her..." Qui-Gon said with a sigh. "I'm so sorry to bring you into this, Obi-Wan, especially with how big your family has grown, and with another on the way..."

"Two halves of one Code..." Obi-Wan muttered, his eyes shut tightly. "There is no good without evil, there is passion, and there is peace, order and chaos. Light and Dark, it is all the Force." He opened his eyes and looked at the Jedi Master, the youthful spark that had always burned in the wise Master muted with sorrow and resolve. "You  _do_  know that the Jedi are as unbalanced as the Sith, yes? If they were not, the Force may have guided them to this danger, but by closing their eyes to the Dark Side, they have blinded themselves. The Light blinds just as completely as the Dark. One cannot see in the darkness without a light to guide them just as cover from the light is vital to seeing the full breadth of the beauty around you."

"...I know," Qui-Gon whispered, a sad, faint smile on his lips, his chest tight with tension. "That's why I came to you."

"You were wise to do so," Obi-Wan said, taking a deep breath as his fingers drummed on the arm of his throne. "Don't worry, Qui-Gon. We'll catch your Sith Lord. Poor Bant needs to be avenged, if nothing else."

"...I'm sorry about your friend, Obi-Wan," the Master said somberly, and he could feel a sudden pulse of heat through the Force as Obi-Wan's eyes flashed with anger and grief, hidden away while he studied and analyzed the Sith Lord, but now, without the children around to frighten or his wife present to worry, he let slip his perfect control.

"Not nearly so sorry as he's going to be," Obi-Wan growled. "The Force is out of balance, and I intend to correct it." He flicked his wrist, gesturing out to the veranda where the children played. "You and your Padawan are welcome to stay here while I plan my attack. I'd welcome your help, and Anakin may learn something about the Force from my children."

"It's too good of an offer to pass up," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan responded with a half smile, the man only somewhat paying attention as he flicked on the hologram and studied the face of the beast he was resolved to hunt, the Force running cold within him, the disturbance keenly felt, and Obi-Wan knew what he had to do.


	4. The Path Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Part of this chapter gave me a hard time, but I believe I eventually wrangled it into submission. I now have the next three chapters of this thing pretty well planned out, since you guys really want to see this continue, so there! You're welcome! Enjoy, lovelies, and let me know what you think.

Qui-Gon spent the better part of the afternoon not with the former Jedi he had business with, but with his children, from the vibrant seven year old named for Satine's father and very possibly conceived right after the war had concluded, if not before when he and Obi-Wan still served as the Duchess' guardians, to the infant girl, already possessing a fiery disposition and demonstrating a strong talent for the Force. The Jedi had, of course, been drawn to the toddler, a curious, excitable and impulsive boy the young couple had named after him, both in honor of the teacher that Obi-Wan loved and the Jedi Master that helped Satine win the war. It was a child he hadn't met before that day, and the toddler seemed just as interested in him, if hair pulling could be interpreted as a sign of interest.

He didn't favor one child over the other, of course, but the older children were too busy playing and exploring to be bothered with the adults unless something exciting happened or something new was discovered, and the toddler was still too nervous to venture far away from his parents. So Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan sat, watching the children play in the gardens, the infant girl cradled closely to Qui-Gon's chest and the toddler, curious of the new adult he could feel the strange pull of the Force within, tottered about nearby, casting inquisitive glances back at his father and his guest every few moments and dashing back to them when he had ventured too far for his comfort.

Anakin had spent the majority of his time playing with Obi-Wan's eldest, the only one of his children that knew enough Basic to carry on a conversation, and together, through both their limited common vocabulary and a series of hand signals and gestures, Anakin began learning about the Force from the seven year old. It was an easy thing for Anakin to learn from the boy, felt he understood him completely even with the thin partition of their language barrier standing between them. Though Adonai Kenobi was two years his junior, he had spent his entire life steeped in the knowledge of the Force, his young and attentive father lavishing him with all the training he needed to both understand and respect the weight of the powers within him. Anakin had first  _heard_  of the Force only a few weeks, and though he was making quick progress in his lessons, he recognized that he could learn from even the youngest of the Kenobi children.

Anakin immediately understood the quiet lessons of the children at play better than the hard instruction of his many Jedi tutors as they attempted to make the too old child conform to their ways, strange and difficult for one who had not grown up in the Jedi's dispassionate tradition. Their use of the Force was liberal and exuberant, unencumbered by rules and codes and by the gravitas of the sacred powers they possessed, and the responsibility they inherited by being born with such. They were encouraged to explore and experiment, always being mindful of the Force and the way it guided them, and without the fear of failure and reprimand looming over him, Anakin  _thrived_.

It was slow at first, his complete lack of training leaving him miles and miles behind the other children, his use of the Force purely passive and instinctual while even the toddler was actively using it with ease, and his frustration peaked when he tried and failed repeatedly to move a rock into the air like the others were doing. Hot, embarrassed tears stung his eyes, and instead of being lectured on controlling his emotions, the children quickly rushed to help, sympathetic and understanding of his frustrations, and when words failed them, one of them ran to get their father. Under Obi-Wan's guidance, Anakin learned quickly, quietly instructed to use his vast well of emotions to move the Force, and slowly, his fear was eased into excitement with each step closer to success, and before long, untempered pride and delight saw him throwing things around with the rest of the children.

They stayed out until the sky turned deep blue with night and the city of Sundari glowed with light from within glasswork buildings, and on their father's command, the children rushed into the palace to clean themselves up for dinner, Anakin running along with them like he was a part of the family. Despite the relaxed and peaceful ease of the children, Qui-Gon felt the warm, comforting presence never quite seemed to reach Obi-Wan since their talk that afternoon. The man was pensive, his gaze often distant as he stroked his chin, and while he did appear to be relaxed and smiling as they spent the afternoon caching up and talking about his children, it was clear to the Jedi that his former student's mind continually drifted to the footage of the deaths of the two Jedi and the savage beast that killed them.

They didn't see Satine until dinner that evening, the woman explaining her absence as tending to matters of state, though Obi-Wan quietly told Qui-Gon that she had most likely spent the afternoon sulking in wake of the extremely distressing matter they had discussed that afternoon, though he also admitted that this particularly pregnancy was having adverse effects on her mood, making her temperamental when she otherwise would have kept a cooler head. It certainly didn't help that when she felt her family was at risk, Satine became  _fierce_ , far beyond that of a typical mother and due largely in part to the fact that she had already lost one family.

Around the table, the children babbled happily, the more bold of them using the Force to take food from serving trays, which was  _expressly_  forbidden, and withering glares from their mother saw them quickly stop the moment they were caught. Anakin made sure to sit snugly between his Master and his new friend, and while he was gleefully reveling in the feeling of warmth and closeness around him, he couldn't help but feel the muted strain running through the three adults at the table, a tension he didn't quite understand buzzing incessantly between the agitated Duchess and her preoccupied, thoughtful husband.

Obi-Wan hadn't spoken much that evening, so when the man quietly called Anakin's name in his smooth, accented voice, the little Padawan nearly jumped out of his seat, his back straight and his hands folded tightly on the table as he gave the Mandalorian his full attention. "Tell me about your mother."

"M-my..." he muttered, looking uneasily up at Qui-Gon knowing full well that the Jedi were supposed to sever family ties. This was expected of him as well, and he hadn't forgotten the Master's gentle admonishment when he had brought her up before. Qui-Gon sighed heavily and leaned back in his seat, sending a weary look toward Obi-Wan, and Kenobi put his hand up in silent apology.

"Tell me about your upbringing, then," Obi-Wan quietly corrected, sending Qui-Gon a firm look when he saw the Jedi begin to object to that as well. "I understand where you come from is irrelevant once you join the ranks of the Jedi, but we will have very little to talk about if we pretend his life didn't begin until a few weeks ago." His finger tapped upon the table and pointedly kept his eyes away from his wife. "Besides, I find myself  _quite_  interested in Tatooine these days..." The sharp intake of breath and the glare Satine shot Obi-Wan was enough to freeze the room, though Kenobi kept his eyes fixed on Anakin, the boy in turn looking at his Master.

"Go ahead, Anakin..." Qui-Gon muttered, his hand on the boy's shoulder, and Anakin bit down on his lip, his eyes fixed on the table as he collected his thoughts, and with a deep breath and a nod to himself, he looked up at Obi-Wan.

"We were slaves in Mos Espa," he began quietly before he bit his lip, looked away, and began again. " _I_  was a slave in Mos Espa. My mother still is."

"Owned by Jabba?" Obi-Wan asked quietly, and Anakin morosely shook his head.

"No. By Watto. A Toydarian slaver junk dealer  _sleemo_..." the boy growled softly, anger and fear rising within him and causing the children at the table to fall silent, and though Adonai didn't understand the words, he understood the feeling and laid a comforting hand on Anakin's shoulder. "S-sorry..."

"That's quite alright, slavery is upsetting," Obi-Wan said lightly, flashing Satine a quick smile as he shoved a fork speared with food into his mouth, his ease relaxing the children and they began slowly chattering once again. Satine, however, was on to her husband, and her cold stare and her silence let him know it. "What did you do at this shop you served in?" At this, Anakin's face lit up.

"Oh, all kinds of things!" he said excitedly. "Mostly I fixed thing. Droids and vaporators and machines and stuff like that. I-I built a droid and a podracer!"

"Did you?" Obi-Wan asked, smiling warmly when Anakin visibly swelled with pride. "Trust you to pick up a little mechanic, Qui-Gon. You've always needed one around since you are  _garbage_  with machines."

"The Force has always provided me with mechanics, I've never  _needed_  to get good with machines," Qui-Gon said with a roll of his eyes as Anakin snickered with laughter, the same grin on his face as the one Obi-Wan was sporting. "It's ultimately how Anakin came to leave Tatooine. He won his freedom in a podrace."

"Really..." Obi-Wan asked, looking the boy over as he nodded vigorously. "Human's can't usually do that. That's the Force at work." He tapped his fork against his plate as he leaned toward the excited boy. "I'm something of a pilot myself. Perhaps tomorrow you'd like to come see my ship." The sharp, excited gasp and the wide-eyed pleading look at Qui-Gon was all Obi-Wan needed for an answer, and he chuckled as he leaned back in his seat. "I'm always looking for parts to upgrade my ship. Perhaps I'll pay this Watto a visit."

"I wouldn't..." Anakin scoffed. "All he's got is salvage and junk. Nothing you'd want to put in a ship you actually want to fly."

"Mm, I suspect he may have exactly what I'm looking for..." Obi-Wan drawled, and it took a moment for Anakin's eyes to widen with understanding, looking quickly to his Master for a moment before he bit his lip, his hands clasped firmly in his lap as he privately held on to his excitement. "And it'll give me a chance to scout the area while I'm there."

"Obi-Wan..." Satine said, her voice low and cold and warning, and the former Jedi winced and flashed the woman a slight, chastised smile.

"Love, I've been meaning to swing by Tatooine anyway!" Obi-Wan swiftly defended himself. "There's someone I've been after for years that I hear is hanging out close to Jabba. Now that I've killed a Force sensitive Hutt, I think he might want to see me."

"I don't like you attracting attention like that..." Satine glowered, standing up from the table and glaring at her husband. "And this has  _nothing_  to do with Qui-Gon's problem?"

"W-well..."

"Ade, bic'cuyir ca'nara par'haav. Sirbur jate ca'at gar'buir," Satine commanded, and the children around the table groaned, slid off their chairs, and rushed to their father to quickly say goodnight before they ran off, the pattering of their feet on the fine stone floors growing softer as they rushed away. Satine picked up the infant, the little toddler grabbing tightly to her skirts, and a tight smile touched her lips. "My decision stands, Obi-Wan," she said in a tone that held no room for debate. "You are not getting mixed up in this Jedi problem." Obi-Wan didn't answer her, only took her hand and pressed his lips to her palm, the Duchess' anger fading for a moment when he gently kissed her fingertips. She quickly took her hand away, and Obi-Wan watched her leave, sighing heavily when she disappeared from view.

"She'll understand, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan whispered. "When I talk to her, she'll understand why I must do this."

"I wouldn't ask you if there was any other way..." Qui-Gon said softly, pushing back in his seat and stretching out his long legs under the table.

"I-is she mad at you?" Anakin squeaked, looking between the two men, and Obi-Wan sighed, ran his fingers through his hair and gave the child a reassuring smile.

"She's not angry, no. She's afraid." Obi-Wan sighed, leaned back in his chair and swiped a hand over his face. "She wouldn't be fighting so hard if she didn't know I need to do this, but, you know..." He pointed to his stomach, a sad, strained smile on his lips. "The bigger picture isn't so easy to see when the life she feels inside her is so small. It has..." He brought up his hands before him and slowly brought them together. "Narrowed her focus."

"As it should with any mother," Qui-Gon said quietly. "She will do what she must to protect her family. I understand."

"As will I," Obi-Wan said firmly, his face hardening with resolve. "I made my case when we discussed it earlier. She knows what is at stake. I'll talk to her again tonight when we're alone. She'll see the wisdom of ending the threat before it has the chance to reach us." The carefree, easy smile returned to his face as he extended his hand, a roll from the other side of the table lifting up and gently floating to him. "Don't tell Satine the children got this idea from me," He said after taking a bite out of the warm, sweet roll. "The woman may be a pacifist, but she had very few qualms about going to war with me."

"I can't see you allowing it to escalate to such, Obi-Wan, you have always disliked conflict," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan grinned when he had swallowed the food in his mouth.

"I differ to her will in most matters," he said with a shrug. "The conflict is rarely worth it, and I know when to choose my battles."

"Is it just work that is contentious?" Qui-Gon asked, and a small, almost devious smirk touched Obi-Wan's lips.

"Not for the most part..." he said slowly, carefully measuring his words as his swift mind thought of how best to present a simple answer to a complicated question. "She has never objected to the defense of our people or the protection of the innocent, even outside our borders." That sly, sardonic smile crossed his lips again. "It's only when I'm contracted by the  _Jedi_  that she objects."

"How  _very_  Mandalorian..." Qui-Gon said with a roll of his eyes.

"Let the Jedi do the Jedi's work, she's always telling me," Obi-Wan said through another bite of the bread in his hand. "For how devastating they could be to the innocent, she supported my hunt for destructive practitioners of the Force until the Jedi got involved."

"I can't say I blame her..." Qui-Gon sighed. "Though, to be fair, you are  _distressingly_  good at hunting our fallen."

"I told her as much, but it's an argument we've had many times." He dropped the unfinished roll on his plate and crossed his arms over his armored chest, pensive as he seemed to stare at nothing at all, though Qui-Gon could feel him moving through the Force, reaching out beyond the moment for things that had always been unseen to the Master. "It's... _difficult_. One does not simply  _leave_  the Order behind. The values the Jedi raised me with are a part of me as much as the love for my family is a part of me now. Protect the innocent and the defenseless from evil, see justice done, and there is  _so_  much evil and injustice..."

"Which is why we need you, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, Kenobi slowly nodding in agreement. "You aren't bogged down by policy and politics, you aren't beholden to the Republic..."

"I know, I know..." Obi-Wan muttered. "Satine knows it too, she understands. She just...feels the Jedi are keeping me bound to them by having me on retainer as a contract killer." A wistful, satisfied smile crossed his lips, his eyes drifting to Satine's empty seat at the table. "She believes the Jedi still lay a claim to me. My wife doesn't like to share."

"Understandable, given how you were tormented between your responsibilities to the Jedi and your love for her," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan nodded in agreement, though the smitten expression never quite left his face.

"Oh, I never blamed her for her apprehension..." Obi-Wan muttered. "I dislike leaving as well, but I must protect my family..." Obi-Wan brightened again, picking up the roll and shoving the remainder of it in his mouth. "Would you stay here and protect her while I investigate the Sith threat? I believe we will both feel better for it."

"Are you so certain she will let you go?" Qui-Gon asked, his eyebrow arched as he looked his confident former student uncertainly over, but Obi-Wan quickly dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"Like it or not, it must be done. As I said, I will speak to her privately, we will get to the heart of the matter, and she will understand why I must do this, but it will be far easier if she can feel  _safe_."

"I would be happy to stay and keep her company," Qui-Gon said inclining his head toward the gratefully smiling Mandalorian. "You have a plan, then?"

" _Tch_ , do I have a plan..." Obi-Wan scoffed. "Of course I have a plan. One doesn't become the galaxy's eminent Dark Jedi hunter by rushing in without a plan." Obi-Wan placed the holodisc with the recording of the Jedi's fatal fight on the table, took a look at Anakin, and with a shake of his head, slipped the device back into the pouch on his belt, reaching for his datapad instead. "You said you fought the creature on Tatooine?"

"I did," Qui-Gon quietly confirmed. "But I doubt you'd find anything. A sandstorm swept by that afternoon and certainly erased any trace of him, if tracking him is your intention."

"That  _is_  my intent, actually..." Obi-Wan muttered, his fingers moving across the screen. "But not in the traditional way. I was going to pull in a favor with Quinlan Vos, he owes me from that botched mission of his on Nar Shadda, so if you could send me the approximate coordinates of your location when you encountered the beast, that would be  _fantastic_."

"The Council is  _not_  going to like that..." Qui-Gon muttered to the rolling of Obi-Wan's eyes. "You know how the Jedi feel about reading into things steeped in the Dark Side."

"I know Quin has a talent, and that talent should be used," Obi-Wan said firmly. "If the Jedi wish to allow that talent to atrophy as it is wasted on petty criminals,  _fine_ , but when his abilities may be used to find a  _Lord of the Sith_ , the Council should have faith that one of their own will not fall to evil for simply witnessing it. Quin is stronger than that. I'm insulted they do not know better."

"Be that as it may, the last I heard, Quinlan was on another undercover mission," Qui-Gon said quietly, smirking when Kenobi frowned and slashed his finger across his datapad. "In the event you're out of luck on the matter, do you have another plan"

"After I conclude my investigation on Tatooine?" Obi-Wan asked, and smirked slightly when Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Of course." He handed the datapad to the Jedi, the image of a red planet displayed on the screen. "Ever been to Dathomir?" Obi-Wan asked, his grin growing wider when Qui-Gon frowned and read the displayed information. "I've had several encounters with its denizens in my travels, both in my forays in learning about the Force and, much less pleasantly, among those I've hunted."

"Is Dathomir not a nexus of the Dark Side?" Qui-Gon asked suspiciously, earning him an almost admonishing look from Obi-Wan. "What were you doing in a place like that?"

"The Force is the Force, Master Jinn, and I seek to know it. One cannot fight darkness if one doesn't know and understand it." A slight smirk crossed Kenobi's lips when he felt the intensity of Qui-Gon's stare. "Knowledge, not ignorance, right Master?"

"I've always said you were a devious little shit..." Qui-Gon muttered, his arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to appear stern and cross, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him. "You aren't wrong, but if the High Council could hear you, I think they'd be appalled."

"Not unlike you, Master?" Obi-Wan drawled, chuckling softly when Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. "In any case..." he said, lowering his voice, the humor gone from him in a moment and taking the datapad, quickly tapping a few icons to bring up the image of the beast that killed Kit and Bant. "Our little friend here isn't unlike those I have encountered on Dathomir before, and it looks as though he may be a Nightbrother, one the groups of the native people." He tapped his finger on the datapad. "We go to Dathomir, and I believe we will find what we are looking for."

"You believe these Nightbrothers will help you hunt one of their own?" Qui-Gon asked, frowning as he looked at the image of the Jedi slayer, and Obi-Wan swiftly shook his head.

"Not the Nightbrothers, no, but if you want something done on Dathomir, you deal with the women, not the men, and despite having hunted  _several_  Nightsisters in the past, I'm on fairly good terms with their leader, Talzin." Qui-Gon was silent for a moment as he read Obi-Wan's notes on the datapad concerning the natives of Dathomir, their gender segregated clan structure, their unique relationship to the Dark Side of the Force, and slowly nodded in understanding.

"Dark Side witches..." Qui-Gon muttered. "I'm curious as to why you haven't killed this Talzin if she is so steeped in darkness."

"You're assuming that you  _can_  kill Talzin," Obi-Wan said with a roll of his eyes. "And I'm not certain that you can. But beyond that, Talzin isn't hurting anybody. She isn't evil, she just  _is_. She doesn't deserve death for that anymore than Master Yoda deserves death for walking in the Light. Not all that is dark is evil."

"And you believe she will have what you need?"

"I do," Obi-Wan quickly replied. "If there is anything to be learned there, Talzin will know about it. The Force leads us to Dathomir. It would be unwise to ignore it." He flicked his hand in the air and leaned back in his chair, smiling softly when he looked at Anakin, who had been silent and attentive this entire time, his eyes wide as he took in everything he could. "I suppose I should make a point of investigating Naboo as well."

"I can put in word with Queen Amidala, if it will aid your investigation," Qui-Gon said, and for a long moment, he didn't respond, caught up instead on watching a breathless, infatuated grin spread across Anakin's features, accompanied with a surge of emotion through the Force that raced in time with the rapid beating of his heart. Obi-Wan did not envy Qui-Gon the difficult teenage years that Anakin was certainly going to go through if he was already so young and experiencing such strong romantic inclinations. Becoming a Jedi in line with what the Council demanded of their Knights would be  _very_  difficult for the boy, though he couldn't have a Master better suited for the task than the unconventional Qui-Gon Jinn.

"That would be ideal, yes," Obi-Wan said, pushing himself out of his chair and stretching as he stood, rolling his shoulders and eager to finally get out of his armor. "I'd like to investigate the matter surrounding the recent blockade there as well. The presence of a Sith Lord at the culmination of these tensions with the Separatist movement seems more and more related the longer I think on it, and Naboo is a good place to start." Obi-Wan quickly moved to help Qui-Gon out of his chair as the older Master stood, Anakin jumping up on a chair to snatch a final roll off the table when he had failed to use the Force to bring it to him.

"I knew it was a good idea to come to you..." Qui-Gon said softly, laying his hand on Obi-Wan's armored shoulder and smiling gently at him. "Perhaps after your preliminary investigation is completed, you can return with me to Coruscant and compare notes with the High Council."

"I suppose I could," Obi-Wan said with a shrug. "Satine hasn't been to Coruscant since the war began, though she has been speaking about making a diplomatic trip for years now. We can make a family vacation out of it, the furthest the children have been away from Sundari is Kalevala, and that isn't even out of the Mandalore system. It may do them well to see something new."

"You may wish to extend that trip to include Naboo," Qui-Gon quietly suggested as he followed Obi-Wan's languid pace out of the dining room, the slow stride allowing Anakin to dart away to press his face against the glass windows overlooking the brightly lit city and return to the pair before they had gotten too far. "I think you will find it extremely beautiful, and Naboo's Queen possesses quite a bit of political cunning and influence that I believe Satine will enjoy."

"Not the safest place, is it?" Obi-Wan muttered, looking up questioningly at the Master.

"...well it is  _now_ ," Qui-Gon said with a roll of his eyes, Obi-Wan chuckling as Anakin went tearing past them to talk to one of the guards at the end of the hall.

"Sounds like we have a plan of attack then," Kenobi said, taking a deep breath of the cold, night air flowing in through one of the open balcony doors, a thing that seemed a novel luxury even so many years after the war's conclusion, when each window was covered in durasteel shielding for safety. He never grew tired of it. "I'll show you to the rooms you'll be staying in, help you get settled..." He sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping. "And all that's left to do is get Satine to agree to it."

"I do not envy you that task..." Qui-Gon said quietly. "I remember how you two used to argue."

"We've come a long way since then..." Obi-Wan said absently. "I'll make her see reason."

* * *

It was late by the time Obi-Wan left Qui-Gon and Anakin, the young Padawan struggling to stay awake in his desire to be part of the conversation when their talks veered away from the grim business at hand and back to more exciting matters, the Jedi and the Mandalorian sharing stories about the missions they took part in, the evils they fought, their victories they had only just managed to grab from the jaws of immanent defeat, which Obi-Wan made them swear would stay between them and  _never_  reach his wife's ears. He feigned his own exhaustion in order to get the deliriously tired to accept he was leaving, the boy yawning and nearly falling asleep in his Master's arms with the slurred insistence that Obi-Wan could stay if he wanted, because he wasn't tired  _at all_. With the promise to show the boy his ship in the morning when they were both well rested, he left the two Jedi and hurried down the halls of the palace toward the extensive network of rooms and hallways that comprised the personal quarters of Mandalore's ruling family.

He only stopped to check in on his children, the toddler and the infant sound asleep under the watchful care of two of the palace's high ranking soldiers, a teenage girl and a twenty year old man from two of the prestigious clans that supported Satine during the war, the fast friends having taken an intense liking to the youngest members of the growing Clan Kryze. The other three children were, predictably, wide awake, huddled together under the covers of Adonai's bed as they took turns frightening each other with stories out of Mandalore's violent past, a thing that their mother strove to keep them away from, and so the three had committed every horrifying tale to memory by the age of four. Obi-Wan gently admonished them for staying up so late before he climbed under the covers with them and told them his own stories, his newest one about the Force sensitive Hutt in his dark lair proving to be especially thrilling to his attentive young audience.

With their promise to finally get to bed, Obi-Wan bid his children goodnight and left the rooms, standing outside the door only long enough to hear the hushed, excited whisperings begin again, and with a contented sigh, he headed toward his own rooms. The sentries in the halls saluted him as he walked by, and he briefly stopped to talk with each one, asking about their families, their health, each one known to him by name, a personal effort he put forward to warm himself to the men and women that protected his family in their absence. Mandalorians were naturally suspicious of the Jedi, and while he wasn't one anymore, he had to do his part to ease his people to make Satine's job easier. It was no easy thing for the Duchess to stand before her detractors and political opponents when each one of her children was gifted with the Force, their tumultuous history with the Jedi making many of her people see this as a betrayal. Changing the Mandalorian opinion of their father went a long way toward helping Satine build the bridges necessary to maintain peace in Mandalore.

Obi-Wan entered the antechamber of his and Satine's rooms and immediately began shedding his armor, carrying it with him into an adjoining dressing room and hanging it neatly upon its place, his own corner of the room bare save for three sets of armor, all in the cobalt blue and silver white of Clan Kryze, each one serving a different purpose. One fine, elaborate set trimmed with intricate gold inlays and designs for formal affairs, another more plain and worn set he used for training with the warriors serving his Duchess, but the one he was removing was his favorite, forged from Satine's own set of armor and gifted to him soon after their marriage, a set stronger than the others and more fit to his body for the length of time he spent in it.

Aside from a small dresser filled with plain, comfortable robes and tunics he had a preference for since his time as a Jedi, the rest of the closet belonged to Satine and her vast spread of elaborate gowns and more simple tunics, everything from plain and practical to so elaborately formal that Obi-Wan could never dream of a situation in which it would be used. Even for their wedding, which was a small affair, by all accounts, she had worn the simple tunic and traveling pants she had grown accustomed to during her year on the run, while he sported the Jedi robes that he had always been so comfortable in. They had been only seventeen at the time, the end of the war only days behind them, neither one of them able to believe it was over, the sudden wealth and expectations of royalty they had stepped into still strange and unfamiliar. It was a simple, quick affair done in the ruins of Sundari castle the day after Qui-Gon returned alone to Coruscant, his mission completed, leaving his young Padawan behind to follow the new path he had chosen beside the girl the Force had brought into his life.

Obi-Wan removed his long-sleeved black compression shirt as he walked done one of the short halls, dismissed the guards standing vigil, and stepped into the bedroom, the spacious, open room elegantly furnished with the finest glass, wood and stone Mandalore had to offer, the large bed against the wall neatly made and vacant. The fine, glass doors to the circular balcony were open, a cool, gentle breeze sending ripples along the gossamer curtains, and Obi-Wan slowly made his way out onto the balcony where the Duchess stood watching her city, her arms crossed over her chest and her thin, knee high night gown doing little to keep the woman from shivering from the slight chill.

The woman didn't hear him as he drew closer, and she startled slightly when he wrapped his arms around her, quietly hushing her as he drew her against him and bent to kiss the crook of her neck. His fingers traced down her arm to the leather bracelet around her wrist, a tightly woven length of reddish-gold blond hair wrapped several times around and fixed to the soft, worn band, the Padawan braid that she cut from him the day they were married. There was no ceremony in the Mandalorian marriage tradition, the words of promise and devotion enough for the stark, harsh people to see two lives bound together, but Obi-Wan had come from the Jedi, and they were nothing if not mired in symbolic ceremony and tradition. Cutting that braid from their hair was an important part in the life of any Padawan as they severed their ties with their Master as they stepped into Knighthood, so it seemed appropriate that on his new path, his new wife be the one to sever his ties to the Jedi Order.

"I fought to win you from the Jedi, Obi-Wan," Satine whispered as she nestled against her husband, her hand gently laying over his when it came to rest on the swell of her stomach. "I fought my people, I fought your Code, I fought  _myself_  to be selfish enough to ask you to stay because I was too small and afraid to face my duty alone. Being weak enough to take you from the Jedi, from  _everything_  you were was the most difficult thing I have ever done, that  _we_  have ever done." The breeze blew across her bare shoulders and Obi-Wan held her closer and tighter when she shivered. "We have not come all this way together only to have the Jedi continue to believe you are one of theirs to command."

"They haven't commanded me to do anything, my love, they are  _asking_  me for help."

"Help to do the work of  _Jedi_ ," she hissed, her hand tightening over his own. "We have greater need for you here than the Jedi ever could. You  _aren't_  one of them! They don't seem to understand that!"

"Oh, believe me, they understand..." Obi-Wan drawled against the pale flesh of her slender neck.

"Do  _you_?" she hissed, turning in his embrace and staring up at him coldly, her trembling lip stubbornly pressed into a hard frown as she attempted to keep the thin film of tears welled in her eyes from falling, a thing she failed at when Obi-Wan sucked in a sharp breath at her obvious distress and ran his thumb across her cheek.

"That isn't fair, Satine..." Obi-Wan whispered, his voice smooth and soothing as he pulled her closer, his chin resting on top of her head and stroking her back when his bare chest felt the wet trail of her tears.

"What if you don't come back?" she whispered in a shaking voice. "What if you die fighting that beast because the Jedi  _asked you to_. I almost lost you to the Jedi once when I thought I would be too proud to ask you to stay with me. I won't lose you now, I  _can't_. What would our children do without their father? What would  _I_  do?! I will not have you being their... _servant_  they can just run to when they are too afraid to leave their tower! I will not have you dying in service to them, doing the work that should belong to the  _Jedi_!"

"Dearest, this was  _never_  about the Jedi..." Obi-Wan said softly as he kissed her cheek. "The moment I heard the Sith had returned, I would have left to find and destroy them. The fact that I hear about them first from the Jedi is incidental. The Sith don't just use the Dark Side, they  _embody_  it, abuse it, and  _that_  is a very dangerous thing. These aren't just beings that walk the path of darkness, they are death and corruption, their every step upsetting the balance of the Force through their will to dominate it."

"And you wish to make yourself a  _threat_  to such creatures?!" Satine gasped in disbelief, pushing away from the man so she could look up at his face. " _No_. I won't allow it. We are safe here, Mandalore is  _safe_! I don't care about the rest of the galaxy, let the Sith have it, so long as you stay here to protect your family! Don't go seeking out this danger, Obi,  _please_."

"Satine..." he said gently, drawing the trembling woman back to him. "This isn't about the galaxy, this is about our children. We talked about this already, they are strong in the Force, and they  _will_  draw attention, just as they draw the Jedi from all the way out in the Core. With the Sith around, there is no safety for them, and if anything, you should be  _thanking_  the Jedi for bringing he matter to my attention early so I can aid in stopping it before it's too late."

"This is a  _Jedi job_." she growled again.

"Yes, it is," Obi-Wan quietly agreed. "And I don't trust the Jedi to do it. I won't leave the defense of my wife and my children to someone else." He sighed as he threaded his fingers through her silken, pale blond hair, the soft strands of his braid upon her wrist running over his chest as she pet at the scars that marked his skin, most of them earned in defense of her. "Even if the Jedi were to mount this attack on their own, I would in time find my way into the fight on my own because the safety of my family demands it. I must go, Satine. You know I must."

"...I-I know." She clung tighter to him, her hands slipping behind his back and her shoulders shaking with new, silent tears that she finally let flow freely down her face, and Obi-Wan held her in a comforting embrace. This argument had been won before he even came in the room. "Every time you leave me, I fear you will never return, and now you are to leave for a mission more dangerous than the rest..." Satine sniffled, her fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back and her face pressed against his chest as she placed quick, desperate kisses to the man's skin. "What if this fight is your last? What if this is the time you don't return?"

"Ni'kelir ratiin mar'eyir ner'ara norac at'gar, I will always find my way back to you, my love," he whispered, slowly untangling himself from her embrace enough to caress the back of his hand over her high, sharp cheekbones and wipe her tears away. "And even if it  _did_  come to that, I wouldn't die until I took  _every_  single one of those Sith bastards down with me so I could pass into the Force with the knowledge that my family was safe. You have my word, Satine. I will defend my family in life and in death. No harm will  _ever_  come to you or our children."

"I know it won't, my Knight..." Satine whispered, sighing as she leaned into his touch and threading her fingers through his hair. "I just pray you are with us a long time yet. We cannot do without you, you must know that."

"Always first in my mind, dear," Obi-Wan said, an easy smile on his lips as he kissed her forehead and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, gently leading her back toward the balcony door to the bedroom. "Come, it's far too brisk out for you to be standing around wearing so little." Satine nodded, though stayed silent, leaning her head against his chest and allowing herself to be guided back into the room, unaware of how cold she had been until the warm air of the bedroom surrounded her.

"Did you check on the children?" she asked softly when Obi-Wan's hands rubbed up and down her bare arms to warm her, the man muttering a soft affirmative as he laid long, lazy kisses on her neck and shoulder. "Were they sleeping?"

"...yeeeees?" Obi-Wan said after a brief beat of silence, his most winning smile on his lips when she glared at him. "... _mostly_  asleep."

"Obi-Wan!"

"What!" he cried, raising up his hands in surrender when she reeled on him. "Darling, they certainly didn't get it from me!  _I_  have always been an obsessive compulsive rule follower! Can you say the same, my Mandalorian Queen?"

"I can say that I haven't been keeping them up at night with ancient horror stories!"

"I have done  _no_  such thing!" Obi-Wan said defensively, his smile becoming sheepish and his gaze drifting away from hers when she frowned knowingly at him. "...I was telling them about the Hutt I fought on the rescue mission."

"I don't know what I was expecting when I married you..." Satine groaned as she rolled her eyed, laying her head on Obi-Wan's chest as he embraced her and listening to the deep, amused chuckle in his throat as he kissed at her ear. "The quiet ones are  _always_  the most trouble."

"Mm, Qui-Gon could have told you that."

"Oh, he did, love..." she said, kissing the scar on his shoulder, the deep, uneven smooth flesh the first he got in her defense. " _Many_  times, in an attempt to guide me away from you so that you might focus on the Code."

"I'm pleased to say I'm happy he failed."

"Really.  _I'm_  not, you're ruining our children," she teasingly admonished, laying her hand upon his cheek and smiling softly when he turned his head to kiss her palm.

"I suppose we'll just have to keep making more. It some point, there's bound to be  _one_  I don't ruin."

"I'm not so certain about  _that_ , my Knight, you seem to make a mess of everything." Obi-Wan hummed softly in response, and Satine closed her eyes and held on to him tighter, listening to the sound reverberate through his chest. "Do you have a plan for your attack on this Sith beast?" she asked softly when he reverently grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to each of her fingertips.

"It's not an attack yet, merely an investigation," he murmured, his hands sliding down her neck and pressing the thin straps of her nightdress off her shoulders, the silken garment dropping to the ground and she shivered at the touch of the cool breeze coming from the partially open balcony doors and the gentle stroking of Obi-Wan's hand over her bare stomach, the child within wriggling and kicking in response to the feel of his father. "I suspect it will be some time before this Sith makes himself known again. I have time to prepare."

Relief washed over her like a wave, the woman sighing as she felt the tension leave her shoulders and she allowed Obi-Wan to help her climb into bed, the man quickly sliding in after her and taking a moment to settle as she shifted to get comfortable. "When are you leaving?" she asked quietly, a soft, satisfied smile spreading across her lips when she felt her husband's chest press close against her back, his arms slipping protectively around her and his warm breath ghosting against her neck.

"Tomorrow morning." He kissed at her neck, his hands soothingly stroking down the length of her body when he felt her tense. "Just for the day, love, I should be back by the evening. I suspect my business on Tatooine will go quickly, and I don't imagine that my personal errand will take much time either."

"...you mean to free Anakin's mother," Satine said, a statement, not a question, and when she felt him nod against her shoulder, she smiled and relaxed into his embrace. "My Knight...saving the galaxy one soul at a time."

"I cannot free  _all_  the slaves, but it is a simple thing to free this one." Obi-Wan quickly kissed her neck. "A small thing that will mean a great deal, and the Jedi  _clearly_  will not do it." Obi-Wan breathed deeply and closed his eyes, the weariness of the Duchess slowly seeping into him as well. "I asked Qui-Gon to stay here while I am away to keep you company, and Adonai seemed to enjoy playing with Anakin."

"But you will not be gone for long."

"No, but I'm having them stay while I investigate on Dathomir as well." He groaned softly in satisfaction when the woman shifted against him, moving closer as her body relaxed wrapped in Obi-Wan's soothing presence. "After that, I thought we may take the family to Naboo and Coruscant. I know the  _Coronet_  isn't ready yet, but there are other ships we could take. I have business in both places, and I thought you and the children would enjoy getting away from Mandalore for a little while before you get holed up again with the new baby."

"Mm, I'd like that..." she muttered absently, and Obi-Wan drew her closer, reveling in the feel of his Duchess against him as sleep took them both.


	5. Tatooine

Tatooine was, like many other desert worlds that Obi-Wan had visited in his travels, a hot, sandy, miserable hell scape, dry and arid and plagued with occasional violent winds and vicious storms that made travel both impossible and excessively dangerous to the fools that attempted. All other times, the air shimmered with still, baking heat under a blue sky that stretched unobscured across the horizon, not a single cloud or wisp of moisture to provide even a moment of respite from the blazing twin suns as they slowly crawled across the sky. Dangerous creatures swam deep within the sand or made their homes in the expanses of the wastelands, and nomadic raiders and bands of criminals made venturing outside the few cities that the world possessed a thing reserved only for the brave or the ambitious.

Even still, little settlements dotted the wastelands and large fields of vaporators belonging to local moisture farms pulled what water they could out of the air, and almost magical thing, since rainfall was a thing that had been relegated to tellings in legends, and the climate so arid that each breath felt as though it left the lungs shriveled and dry. It was no wonder that crime ran rampant in a place like this, that drug dealing and human trafficking provided the residential crime lords the vast wealth they needed to remain comfortable. Life was cheap in places like this, work was hard and resources scarce, which was often enough to drive good, honest people elsewhere, or else out into the desert to live separate from the scum and villainy of places like Mos Espa and Mos Eisley.

Obi-Wan had been to  _many_  desert worlds in his time, and from the moment his boots sunk into the fine, golden sands of Tatooine, one desert world was very much like the next one. The same heat, the same sands, the same dangers of the desert, be it in the forms of beasts or raiders, the same blazing sun, or  _suns_ , in this case, the same sand storms and the same arid desert communities and open air markets of their cities. But the longer he trudged over Tatooine's sand dunes, the air still and the suns blazing with an almost vengeful need to see him bake within his armor, Obi-Wan slowly began to appreciate the differences between this desert and the others he had visited.

Tatooine was  _not_  Jagunda, the dry and barren world within the Stygian Caldera within what used to be Sith Space. Jagunda, with its singular city and a populace too afraid to leave the city walls for the vast nothingness beyond it. Obi-Wan had traveled there a few years back to investigate and study the fortress of the Sith Lord, Darth Gravid and his Twi'lek apprentice Darth Gean, two Sith in the line of Bane, the two reigning Sith over five hundred years ago. A man of particular interest to Obi-Wan, as before his apprentice killed him, Gravid had made the attempt to blend the teachings of the Jedi with Sith doctrine. Drawn to the Light, Gravid slowly went insane, the decay of his corruption by the exposure to the Light Side of the Force leaving him wracked with madness caused by the horrors that he had committed in the name of his Order. Unable to reconcile his past darkness with the Light that called him, Gravid destroyed the majority of the Sith lore and artifacts he had amassed, ending only when his apprentice murdered him, the legacy of Bane's Rule of Two continuing on.

Nor was Tatooine Ambria, a very small desert world in the Inner Rim particularly strong in the Dark Side where Obi-Wan had gone to hunt a particularly vicious species of native lizards that had been killing and eating Republic miners stationed on the planet. The species, Hssiss, the miners called them, were unimpressive at first, nearly six feet long and covered in scaly green skin and teeth whose bite was unquestionably poisonous, and fell very easily to the blade of a lightsaber. But these creatures weren't large enough to abscond with a human, let alone devour them in the way the miners described, which sent Obi-Wan far into the desert to hunt for the beast. He passed no settlements, no cities, no travelers. All that existed upon the planet were reptiles and the lonely miners that were not paid enough to be there.

He found the beast in question at a lake, the water sulfuric, boiling and undrinkable, the Dark Side so thick and heavy it permeated the very air around him and had transformed the unassuming, predatory lizard into a black scaled monster fifteen feet in length and so infused with the Dark Side that it could be considered nothing less than Force sensitive. The beast used the Force to render itself invisible to the naked eye, which was a fine trick, but ineffective against the Force talented Obi-Wan. Much to Satine's dismay and his children's delight, Obi-Wan had dragged the creature's body back to Mandalore for study.

Even Mandalore was considered a desert, though it had originally not been so, the ravages of war rendering the planet a toxic, inhabitable wasteland. However, from their ruins, the indomitable Mandalorian spirit saw the construction of massive, beautiful cities like Sundari, built more upwards than outwards, reaching toward the sky instead of spreading across the painful, poisonous reminder of what their world had become and encased in biodomes to protect themselves from their inhospitable world. So far as he could tell, no other desert world had done as the Mandalorians had, their populations resigned to toil in the heat and the sand, close communities banding together for survival and nothing more, never amounting to anything other than making it through another day. Mandalore knew no resignation, and even in defeat, looked toward their next victory.

Nor was Tatooine anything like...actually, it was a  _great_  deal like Jakku.

Obi-Wan spent the morning and the better part of the afternoon walking across the vast expanse of Tatooine's Dune Sea, his black hood pulled over his head to shield his eyes from the blazing suns and afford him a better view of the sands bleached white with reflected light. As he expected, he fond nothing among the dunes. No sign of Qui-Gon's fateful landing in the Naboo Queen's royal Nubian Starship, no sign of the ship the Sith Apprentice arrived in, no sign of the brief but fierce duel that Qui-Gon had with the nightmare beast, all traces, all tracks gone with the shifting sand and the winds that blew across the dunes at night.

Obi-Wan hadn't expected anything else, but he was still disappointed, hoping that somehow, he would find  _something_. The Force didn't even feel disturbed, no sign of cold, no slight strain to show that something had happened here, no ripples across the calm surface to show that anything had been out of place. Hell, Anakin had lived here all of his life, and even his own powerful presence had faded, left no trace that the powerful child had even been there. There was just... _calm_ , the smooth ripple of the Force as life passed through it, unaware of its presence and how tightly they were all bound together, a thing only witnessed by those fortunate few, the watchers on the shore who stood vigil over the peace.

With the twin suns climbing down further toward the horizon, the sky not yet darkening with the fading light and doing nothing to lessen the blistering heat, Obi-Wan walked back toward his ship, a sleek, deadly Kom'rk-class fighter an exact replica of the one he had grown so fond of during the Clan Wars when he flew Qui-Gon and Satine from place to place in search of safety. It was a reliable ship, though his original had been shot out of the sky during their final assault on Sundari. Satine had gotten him  _this one_  for his eighteenth birthday the following year, a much better specimen than his original crafted from the finest Mandalorian steel and painted in the blue and silver-white of Clan Kryze, the same patters he had painted on the hull of his first one lovingly recreated on the new ship. The Jedi, of course, did not celebrate birthdays, but the Mandalorians certainly did, and it was a tradition that Obi-Wan warmly accepted because Satine insisted, though he would have been just as happy without the additional attention.

The Kom'rk came equipt with two identical bedrooms situated just behind the cockpit branching off the hallway leading down into the troop transport, which had been converted into a comfortable living space in Kenobi's model, and the engines and hyperdrive situated at the back of the ship. With wings that could rotate around the vessel's main body while in flight, a powerful turbojet engine that allowed for extremely fast start up, and an impressively powerful armament, the Kom'rk was both fast and highly maneuverable, making the small fighter extremely difficult to hit, and very dangerous in a fight. He called her the  _Mando'kad_ , the  _Sword of Mandalore_ , and he  _loved_  the ship as much as his Jedi upbringing allowed him to love an object.

From his place in the Dune Sea, it only took the  _Mando'kad_  a few minutes to fly the short distance to Mos Espa, and only a few minutes after that to have the ship safely docked in a secure hangar that he paid the intimidating Besalisk security guard a sizable sum to guard, and with that, Obi-Wan was off through the streets, on the lookout for the junk dealership and the Toydarian merchant that Anakin had described. The going was slow, the marketplace at the height of its business hours and the streets filled with jostling, hungry people, stumbling drunks, consumers as they aggressively bartered with stubborn shopkeeps and slaves rushing to do their masters' bidding.

From every corner, the impoverished cried out for money, from every alleyway, the peddlers of flesh offered to ease his troubles, from every hovel, merchants called out their wares as the best around and promised the best prices. It was chaos, thriving and teeming with life, and despite the pushing and the mean looks and the growled threats and the brawls in the streets, Obi-Wan found himself enjoying the sensation of being in the middle of it all. But despite the throng and the careless, brusque attitude of the haggling, arguing people, most gave Obi-Wan a wide berth. The presence of a well armed, fully armored Mandalorian outside of Mandalore usually meant trouble for someone, and most people considered it best to stay clear.

Among the teeming, frenetic life in the Force, the sea of each small flame adrift among thousands and thousands, Obi-Wan felt a sudden pull, strong and familiar, enough to ripple the waters and subtly change the currents, and with a small, private smirk, her drew up taller and increased his pace, following the flow of the Force to the origin of the surge. Through the winding streets and down the long market roads, Obi-Wan gently pushed passed the people in the streets until he found himself at a rundown cantina, the outdoor patio already filled to capacity by boisterous people of several species, most on the way to being well and truly drunk despite the early hour.

The sharp, burning scent of strong liquor, the light acrid tang of ale, and the rich fragrance of wine intermingled and wafted through the dry air and reached Obi-Wan even from across the street, all at once a welcome beaconing of relief from the sun and the hardships of desert life, and a distasteful repellant that caused Obi-Wan's empty stomach to roil with nausea in a bitter reminder that he hadn't eaten since he left Mandalore. He wasn't a stranger to alcohol, but he had never been able to handle more than a modest amount without becoming staggeringly drunk. Social drinking was almost a requirement of his station back home, one that he skillfully managed to avoid most of the time, and while he and Satine had their share of drunken nights together, they were few and far between, Obi-Wan opted not to drink at all in solidarity with his often pregnant wife. Sobriety suited him anyway, but his only sporadic social drinking left his body entirely unused to the stuff and rendered him an extreme lightweight.

Through the stream of laughing people walking inside the cantina and the staggering ones stumbling out, Obi-Wan saw the source, bright and vibrant in the Force, a warm, gently flame that burned with love of life and good humor and sharp cunning. Obi-Wan smiled brightly within his helmet and slowly crossed the street as he headed toward the man, a familiar face he hadn't expected to find, though now that he saw him, he wasn't surprised at all to see him here. This was  _exactly_  the sort of world he frequented on his missions, filled with crime and rough-hewn people and copious booze and easy women. Obi-Wan didn't see him often these days, but often enough, and even if he hadn't been in contact with him, the thick, unruly dark hair, the warm, devious brown eyes, and the gold band tattoo across the tanned skin of his face made him recognizable  _anywhere_.

"Quinlan Vos!" Obi-Wan called when he drew closer, and the Kiffar's bronzed, bare shoulders tensed, the tattoo under his eyes crinkling as he looked up suspiciously, and the group of humans, Rodians, Dugs and Twi'lek that surrounded the table fell silent, their eyes widening as they watched the Mandalorian warrior draw unmistakably closer to  _their_  table. Certain trouble was imminent, the group scattered, some rushing inside, others leaping the small fence of the patio and rushing down the street, leaving the frowning Kiffar to fold his hands behind his head, put his feet up on the table, and glare defiantly at the approaching warrior.

"Got the wrong guy, friend," Quinlan drawled, snatching a bottle from the table and taking a long drink from half-empty flask. He dropped the bottle on the ground, a dull ring as it struck the hard, compact sand on the ground, and he smirked in his self-assured way. "Best get on your way before there's trouble."

"Mm, I'm afraid I  _do_  have the right man," Obi-Wan drawled, pulling back his hood and removing his helmet, and in an instant, the Kiffar's face lit up with a bright, excited smile. "Hello, Quin."

"Well, hey there, breeder!" Quinlan said with a good natured laugh, his feet sliding off the table and quickly gesturing for Obi-Wan to join him at the table. He quickly jumped the fence and sat opposite the grinning Kiffar, quickly waving away the drink he was offered, which was met with a shrug as Quinlan drained the contents himself. "Fancy seeing you all the way out here! Her Royal Highness finally unchain you from the bed?"

"Mm, she lets me out during the day when she's pregnant," Obi-Wan drawled, smirking when Quinlan stared blankly at him, the corner of his eyes twitching. "I'm expected back this evening."

"She's pregnant  _again_?" Quinlan groaned, laying flat across the table and reaching for the Mandalorian, his fingers just barely able to scrape against the armor. "What is this,  _fifteen_?! Fifteen Force sensitive, baby Kenobis running around being adorable and Mandalorian and freaking the Council  _right the kriff out_?!"

"Quin, it's not..." Obi-Wan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. " _Six_  children, this one will be six..."

"Details, Kenobi, I need details!" Quinlan drawled, his elbows on the table and his chin resting between his hands. "Gender, when's it due, is the little shit Force sensitive,  _I need to know everything about the night you conceived it_!"

"A boy," Obi-Wan said, chuckling softly and an easy smile on his lips as he looked at his excitable friend. "Force sensitive, yes, and Satine's six months along, though she'll probably have the baby in two months or so. She's small, and all of our other children have been early.  _And_..." Obi-Wan said, lowering his voice and smirking deviously at the Jedi. "On the night of a storm, we had a blood ritual to the war gods of Mandalore on the balcony of Sundari Palace, surrounded by sacrificial virgins ready to be defiled when lightning filled the sky."

"... _really_?!"

" _No_ , Quin," Obi-Wan said with a roll of his eyes. "We had sex, what do you think?"

"Oh, there are days I would kill to be you, Kenobi..." Quinlan sighed longingly. "Sex slave to the beautiful Queen of Mandalore...chained to her bed so she can ravish you  _whenever_  she pleases...living a life of comfort and luxury where your only responsibility is putting little royal babies inside your mistress...no wonder you left the Jedi.  _I'd_  leave the Jedi if it meant being used for sex by royalty."

"I'll admit, it  _is_  nice..." Obi-Wan said softly, unable to keep himself from chuckling at the sound of Quinlan's infectious laughter.

"You  _are_  going to name your new child after me, right?" The Jedi sat up taller, his chest puffed with pride. "Quinlan Vos Kenobi has a  _lovely_  ring to it."

"Mm, never gonna happen, Quin," Obi-Wan said with a shake of his head. "Not after the last time you were on Mandalore. I think Satine would rather throw herself off the balcony than name her child after you. Being as drunk as you were didn't exactly leave the best impression...honestly, the guards are  _still_  laughing about it."

"Can you blame me?!" Quinlan cried, throwing his arms up in the air. "She was  _beautiful_ , and soft spoken and had fine,  _noble_  features and I have  _always_  wanted to bed a noble!" Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow and stared accusingly at the Kiffar, and Quinlan pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. "How was supposed to know that  _she_  was a  _he_?! Not that I mind, but he sure did!"

"I'm with you, Quin, it was a reasonable mistake, but he was an honored guest at the palace, and you  _greatly_  offended him with your drunken, clumsy come-ons." Obi-Wan shrugged. "That business in the fountain afterwards didn't help things either. And I don't know of she appreciated your  _very_  insistent attempt to seduce her into a threesome..."

"I really ought to get back to Mandalore so I can make a better impression..." Quinlan muttered, running his hands through his hair and looking genuinely embarrassed. "I'll  _never_  get that threesome otherwise."

"You might be out of luck there, Quin. I don't share, and I think she might execute you the moment you set foot in the palace," Obi-Wan said with a gentle smile. "And Satine's a pacifist, so you  _really_  made an impression." Slowly, Quinlan and Obi-Wan began to laugh, soft and awkward at first but quickly becoming easy, good-natured laughter, the two friends reveling in each other's company and the absolute absurdity of the situation.

Two years his senior, Quinlan Vos had been among Obi-Wan's closest friends when he was a Jedi, from the time he was a quiet, shy youngling until he had left the Order as a Padawan, and even beyond his departure, the two made an effort to remain close. Like Qui-Gon, Quinlan walked the thin edge between independence and defiance, the wild, untamed Kiffar adhering to  _most_  tenants of being a Jedi Knight, but he was simply too free a spirit to truly be contained by the strict Code, often finding himself wandering and restless when trapped inside the Temple instead of out on one of his many missions.

Quinlan was rough around the edges, to say the least, a Jedi who was never shy about drinking or taking people to bed, and when they were younger, the brash Kiffar took great joy in making the strict, prudish Kenobi squirm in the explicit retelling of his exploits. Despite being both appalled and embarrassed for his friend, feeling all the shame for him since Quinlan seemed to experience none of it, Obi-Wan couldn't seem to find it within him to dislike Vos. He admired him, in many ways, for his confidence, for his talent, for standing by his every decision, which had been something unattainable to the anxious Kenobi, who second-guessed everything he ever did, who doubted himself constantly, who yearned to feel like he was anything other than a failure to the Order he loved. Quinlan never felt that way, and so the young opposites were drawn to each other, Obi-Wan for Quinlan's confident bravado, and Quinlan for Kenobi's steadfast dedication.

Their friendship only grew stronger when Obi-Wan left the Jedi, Vos gaining a new respect for the shy, timid boy he once knew for having the courage to leave everything he knew behind when he knew his changing personal beliefs no longer adhered to the Code he was sworn to. Prudish, rule abiding Obi-Wan had gone to war and grew up, fell in love, learned the touch of a woman, and never looked back when his young lover asked him to stay. Gone was the uncertain, insecure boy, replaced with the bold, brave confidence of a man who followed the will of the Force, even when it guided him down paths he never knew he wished to travel. He was quiet still, a bit of an introvert as he had always been and not a little shy, but this new Obi-Wan, hardened by war and softened by love, was a man that Quinlan could relate to, and the friendship between the two opposites flourished, even if the rambunctious troublemaker was the cause of more than one serious headache for the rule-abiding young father.

"What brings you to Tatooine, Quin?" Obi-Wan asked when the laughter between them slowly died down.

"I was about to ask you the same thing until you distracted me, you sexy beast..." Quinlan drawled seductively, the Kiffar bursting out in renewed laughter when Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "A mission, as it so happens, but you've blown my cover, so..." He shrugged, flagging down an underdressed Twi'lek slave and ordering another bottle of Corellian brandy with a warm smile and Obi-Wan grasped her hand as she passed and pressed a valuable golden peggat against her palm, quickly waving her off when the overwhelmed slave attempted to slide into his lap with promises of pleasure in thanks.

"I apologize about your mission, Quin," Obi-Wan said quietly, his chest aching as he watched the excited slave slip the coin beneath the thick collar she wore around her neck and disappeared into the crowd. "I certainly didn't mean to disrupt it, and I hope I didn't compromise anything important."

"Hardly, the guy I'm after isn't here," Quinlan said dismissively. "Some Nikto drug lord running his product out of the back of some cheap hotel in Bestine, but he was gone before I got here. The Hutt presence makes his business too difficult, he packed up and moved his operation to some shit hole in the Rennokk system." The Kiffar shrugged, rolling his eyes in irritation. "I need to return to Coruscant to get permission from the Council to continue. I was just seeing if there was anything I missed before I left."

"I'm honestly surprised to see you here," Obi-Wan said softly, smiling as the Twi'lek returned with Quinlan's bottle, the Kiffar paying her for the service and the woman ran her hand over his shoulder as she left. "Qui-Gon said you were on a mission for the Council, but I didn't think it was here. Qui-Gon was just here, actually, he didn't mention seeing you."

"Mm, no, but I saw  _him_ ," Quinlan said with a cocky smirk, pausing to break open the bottle and pour a small glass full of the dark, amber liquid. "Couple weeks ago. Him and a  _very_  beautiful woman. And a huge, long-eared amphibian-looking... _thing_. And a boy." He held his hand out just above the height of the table. "Small boy with a  _ridiculous_  presence in the Force."

"That's...actually part of the reason I'm here," Obi-Wan said slowly, drumming his fingers on his helmet as he thought. "That's Anakin, Qui-Gon's new Padawan. Qui-Gon crash landed here in the course of his mission, ventured here to find the parts to repair his ship, and found the boy." He paused, his lips pressed into a thin line as he held the Kiffar's gaze, the Jedi sucking in a sharp breath as he felt the way the Force shifted and churned, realization and understanding coming to him before Obi-Wan said anything.

"You're here investigating the deaths of Kit Fisto and Bant Eerin," Quinlan whispered, corking the bottle and leaning in toward Obi-Wan. "I...heard about that, even out here. The Council sent an alert out the day after it happened. They say what killed them was probably Sith."

"They're probably right," Obi-Wan muttered, and Quinlan reached across the table and grabbed hold of Obi-Wan's hand.

"I am... _so_  sorry about Bant, Obi-Wan," the Kiffar said softly, his voice quivering with the uncharacteristic weight of emotion for a Jedi. "I know you two had been close before you left. I didn't share that same friendship with her as you did, but...Bant was a good Jedi, and a better friend. The galaxy is lesser for her loss."

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la..." Obi-Wan said softly, his eyes closed and his head bowed. "Not gone, merely marching far away. She is one with the Force now, but so help me, I will find and destroy the bastard that did this."

"If there's anything I can do to help-"

"There is," Obi-Wan said quickly, the sorrow leaving him and replaced with grim determination. "When Qui-Gon was here, he actually  _fought_  the creature days before Bant and Kit were murdered."

" _Shit_ , that's what that was?!" Quinlan gasped, his eyes wide as he looked at Obi-Wan. "I felt it, Obi-Wan. A...chill in the Force, like it had suddenly frozen. So cold it  _hurt_  to touch it, to even  _look_  upon it. I was on my way to see what it was, but a sandstorm was rolling in. I didn't get out there until it had passed by the next day, and by then..." He shook his head. "Nothing. I could feel traces of something, but it was swiftly fading."

"So if you and I went out on the Dune Sea and just  _walked around_ , you wouldn't be able to pick up on the feeling again?" Obi-Wan asked, and Quinlan sighed and shook his head, his hand awkwardly running through his long, thick hair.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan, my powers don't really work that way," Vos apologetically muttered. "I  _might_  be able to pick up the feel of something from a general location, but I don't know if it would give me what you're looking for."

"I suppose it was a bit much to hope..." Obi-Wan groaned, his fingers drumming on the table and watching as Vos took a long swig from the bottle in his hands. "...Quin, do you suppose you would recognize that chill in the Force were you to feel it again?"

"Oh yeah..." Vos said with a grimace as the brandy burned his throat, the Kiffar overly ambitious in how much of the strong drink he could down at once. "I will  _never_  forget it."

"Then perhaps you might be able to help when I know a bit more," Obi-Wan said, perking up slightly. "The Council is  _really_  not going to like what I'm going to ask of you, but they still owe me for dealing with Reess Kairn."

"If it'll help you find this Sith, I'll do whatever you need," Quinlan promised. "Tracking, reading things I shouldn't be, bending me over a table, you name it, Kenobi! Anything to progress the investigation!"

"...right, maybe not that last one so much..." Obi-Wan muttered, running his fingers through his hair when the Kiffar beamed at him. "Damn it, I knew Tatooine would be a dead end..."

"And yet, you still came," Quinlan said slowly, his eyes searching his friend's face. "You said this was just part of the reason you came. What's the other part?" A slow, devious smirk crossed Kenobi's lips, enough to make Quinlan recoil slightly before he leaned in, an equally mischievous look on his own face.

"You've been here for at least a few weeks," Obi-Wan said, leaning forward and his voice low like he was telling a secret, and the Kiffar leaned in closer. "Hear of a junk dealer named Watto? He owns a shop somewhere around here."

"What, that old Toydarian?" Quinlan asked, appalled and recoiling, his nose and the tattoo across his face wrinkling with disgust. "Little garbage hole in the wall? Greedy bastard? Gambling problem? Drinks too much?  _Smells_?!" The Jedi leaned back and laughed. "Yeah, I heard of him. Why? Got business with the little creep? Oh,  _please_  say that business involves a lightsaber!"

"Mm, not this time, murder isn't usually on the agenda." Obi-Wan smiled as he stood, a smug smirk on his face as he tucked his helmet under his arm. "I'm in the market to buy a slave. Wanna come?"

* * *

Just as Anakin had described, Watto's shop was more akin to a garbage heap than an actual shop. He and Quinlan arrived just as the sky began to fade into twilight, the height of the afternoon rush in the streets for parts and clothing and groceries drifting toward the bars, restaurants and cantinas as day drifted toward night. Shops were beginning to close up when they arrived at the small bell-shaped building with a long, walled area in back that held lines and piles of larger equipment, vaporators and engines and turbines and other large mechanical things that Obi-Wan thought looked obsolete at best, salvaged from some ancient equipment that had no purpose in the modern galaxy.

Inside was no different, a rounded counter with calibrators, repair stations, and a droid lubrication bath safely tucked behind it the tidiest part of the circular room, though even that was stained with oil and grimy sand. The rest of the room was piled with stacks of smaller tech, springs and cogs, rusted droids in serious need of repair and pieces and parts for a thousand different machines with a thousand different uses, though the vast majority of it seemed unfit for repairing or replacing anything. The air smelled thick and musty, an artificial smell that Obi-Wan assumed originated from the bell-shaped dome above, an area that appeared far cozier than the rest of the shop, most likely the place where the Toydarian slept.

Obi-Wan slid his helmet on when he heard the rustling from the back and the beating of wings under the tired, irritated, rough grumbling of Huttese, and a moment later, the Toydarian flew in on rapidly beating wings. Watto was a tired, grumpy, miserable looking creature with dark blue and tan patch skin and the shadow of stubble beneath a pudgy trunk, his slightly oversized gut making Obi-Wan wonder how such small wings could support that kind of weight.

"Hi chuba da nago?" the Toydarian gruffed, and while Obi-Wan was far from fluent in Huttese, he understood that much. The moment the Toydarian looked up at the people in his shop, he froze, dropping in altitude for a moment before his wings quickly began flapping again, nervous laughter in his throat as he cautiously eyed the Mandalorian. In was, in many cases, a great benefit to be part of the greatest warrior culture in the galaxy.

"Welcome..." Watto said in Basic this time, his voice tight with tension as he looked at the intimidating pair. "What do you want, eh? You looking for something? If you want it, Watto's got it."

"It pleases me to hear that," Obi-Wan said softly, his voice sounding cold and low through the modulator of his helmet. "I'm in the market for a slave. I hear you have one." The Toydarian's eyes grew wide, and he looked over his shoulder at the open door to the back where his larger wares were kept.

"No," Watto said after a moment, firm and obstinate, but quickly becoming more placating when the impassive, unreadable mask just stared at him. She is not for sale. But I can refer you to another in the business of slaves. Zygerian, top quality, I guarantee it."

"Mm, afraid not," Obi-Wan said as he stepped forward, his hands folded amicably before him, but closing the distance between them was threatening enough. "I want  _your_  slave, and judging by the state of this place, I'd say you're in no position to refuse. And I  _can_  pay," he said, holding up a golden peggat between his fingers, and the Toydarian's eyes flashed with greed, swaying back and forth in the air and scratching his stubbly chin as he deliberated, always,  _always_  looking back at the golden coin.

"Noleeya unko, shag!" Watto finally shouted out the door behind him. "Ateema!" A soft, muted voice could be heard over the dying din of the market outside, and a moment later, a middle aged, downtrodden woman shuffled in, her long brown hair twirled and tied in a bun, her dark eyes sunken, her fair skin burned red by the sun and rubbed raw by the sands. Her hands were heavily and newly callused and the joints of her fingers swollen, the clear signs of very recent hard, manual labor that she had been previously unaccustomed to. Despite her worn, tattered look and the dirt and grime and oil that covered her skin, she didn't look particularly thin, didn't have any signs of physical abuse, and despite her master's rapid, frenetic movements, didn't flinch away from him. At the very least, it appeared as though Watto, for as badly as Anakin had spoken of him, hadn't been abusing the woman.

"Well,  _hello_  there..." Quinlan said, his voice gravely, rough and low and he whistled, which  _did_  make the woman flinch. "I bet you clean up  _very_  nicely..." he drawled, leaning in and leering at the woman, but was quickly stopped by an armored hand on his chest.

"Now, now, my friend..." Obi-Wan said softly, feeling the amusement in Vos as he looked at the flustered Toydarian, the act having the desired effect. "She doesn't belong to us.  _Yet_."

"And she  _won't_  if you're going to use her like that!" the Toydarian growled. "This is a  _skilled_  slave! Valuable! A  _mechanic_!" He grabbed her wrist and held out her hand, the woman stumbling slightly as she was tugged. "Not so skilled as my last one, but..." he grumbled, pulling her forward once again, closer to the Mandalorian, not his leering, rough-looking friend. "Look at these hands! A  _mechanic_ 's hands! She can fix anything!"

"A true mechanic's hands are rough with experience," Obi-Wan said firmly, crossing his arms over his armored chest. "Hers look like she hasn't done a days work in her life. If she is a mechanic, she is new at it. Don't lie to me, Mir'osik."

"It is  _true_ ," Watto growled, releasing the slave and flying as close as he dared to the Mandalorian warrior, clearly offended by the accusation. "I've had her at  _other_  work until recently when I still owned her son.  _He_  was a mechanic, the best I've ever seen. I had no need of her in the shop when I had him!"

"I don't believe you," Obi-Wan said coldly. "I believe you're trying to drive the price up on a slave too old to be much use." Obi-Wan observed the woman carefully, but her eyes hadn't looked away from the ground once, and since mention of Anakin, her shoulders had been hunched and tensed. She may not have been mistreated, but she was clearly tortured simply from being away from her son.

" _Bah_!" Watto spat, flying back to the slave and pushing her toward the counter, the woman obediently shuffling behind the arched surface. The Toydarian grabbed a broken pit droid from one of the many stacks and slammed it on the counter. "Show them, fix it!" he demanded, and the woman quietly set to work, producing the needed tools from a box at her feet, her fingers moving much more nimbly than expected.

"I  _still_  think she's only good for being roughed up..." Quinlan drawled, earning himself a glare from the Toydarian and a soft, amused chuckle from Obi-Wan.

"You're better off wasting your money on the whores by the spaceport," Obi-Wan said softly as he walked toward the slave and leaned on the counter, craning his neck to look at the woman as she diligently worked. "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked gently, and the woman kept working, not looking in his direction.

"Shmi Skywalker," she said without missing a beat, her voice cold, defiant, much in the same way Anakin had sounded when he was discussing the more undesirable aspects of his past. Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan removed his helmet and placed it on the counter, and the woman finally looked at him, her eyes widening slightly and her swift hands stopping as she looked into a much younger face than she expected, one that shone with kindness and compassion and warmth, so,  _so_  much like the face of the Jedi that had come weeks ago to take her boy away. She almost dropped the tool in her hand when the man's lips turned up in the slightest smile.

"You do good work, Skywalker," Obi-Wan said softly, his hand extended toward the droid. "May I see?" Shmi nodded, the tool in her hand quickly moving to put on the finishing touches, which included loosening three vital bolts on the droid's joints. She pushed the droid to him, and Obi-Wan quickly activated it, placed it on the ground, and watched as the droid jerked to life, ambled about for a moment, and collapsed in a heap when the loose bolts popped off and its legs collapsed. "...not good enough, it would seem..." Obi-Wan grumbled, shooting a glare at the Toydarian cold and dangerous enough for the fluttering shopkeep to wish that the Mandalorian had kept his helmet on.

"She is  _tired_!" Watto explained with nervous laughter. "It's the end of the day, if you come back in the morning when she is rested-"

"She is tired because she is  _old_ ," Obi-Wan snarled. "She doesn't have the skill you say, and she is worn, far past the use for labor in a shop like this. You're better off selling her and getting a droid."

"A poor slave is hardly  _worth_  selling!" Watto growled in return, flying up closer to the young man. "I have something you want, yes? I don't care  _why_  you want her, only that you do, so she is worth something to  _you_. One hundred peggats for the slave," Watto growled, his arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied smirk on his face when the Mandalorian sneered at the outrageous sum.

" _Ten_  slaves are not worth that," Obi-Wan growled. "I'll give you more than a fair price. Thirty peggats." Watto nearly dropped out of the air, his hand on the counter as he wheezed. He had expected the high price he had set to be enough to deter the man, he hadn't expected a counteroffer, and certainly not one that far exceeded the value of the woman, even with her mechanical skill set.

" _Pah_ ," Watto sneered, flicking his hand dismissively in the air, but failing entirely to sound convincing. "That would hardly cover the clothes on her back!"

"Aw,  _bantha shit_ ," Quinlan growls, his intimidating presence belying a hot temper that the Mandalorian didn't seem to possess, and Watto found himself backing up.

"My friend is right..." Obi-Wan said calmly. "You'd be lucky to get  _one_  peggat for her, and she won't last you much longer, not when she's failing to repair simple  _pit droids_." He scoffed when Watto sent an angry glare back at the woman, her head bowed apologetically and refusing to look up from the ground. "But you are right," Obi-Wan said, his clipped accent more pronounced with the chill in his voice. "I happen to need a slave, and word is that you are broke enough and your slave old enough to make you willing to sell." He stepped forward to the counter, slipped his hand into the pouch on his belt and placed thirty golden peggats in neat stacks of ten upon the stone surface.

"What's the catch, eh?" Watto asked, suspicious of a deal that seemed too good. "What are you going to use her for?"

"I've got a kid that needs watching..." Obi-Wan said with a sly smirk. "Thirty peggats. Enough to pay for one of those BLX Labor Droids, which I assure you, will outlast any human and do better work than most." Obi-Wan extended his hand toward the Toydarian, and Watto simply looked at it as he stroked his chin.

"...forty peggats," he finally said, and with a distasteful frown, Obi-Wan took half the coins from one of the stacks of ten and returned them to his pouch. "Stop, what are you doing?!" Watto cried, looking desperately between the Mandalorian and the pouch on his belt where the coins disappeared to. "That  _isn't_  how bartering works!"

"I disagree," Obi-Wan said smoothly. "You're wasting my time, and  _nobody_  wastes my time. We all know you're going to take the money, so cut the crap and take it before you're down to  _twenty_ , which, by the way, is still too good of an offer to turn down." Obi-Wan took a menacing step forward, his eyes narrowed dangerously, and the Toydarian slowly lost altitude as he sunk lower to the ground, staring up at the Mandalorian that loomed over him. "I don't  _have_  to be nice. I  _will_  get what I came here for. One way or another, Watto, I will have my way." Obi-Wan extended his hand once again. "Choose wisely."

Swallowing hard, the Toydarian looked up at the cold Mandalorian, the intimidating roughneck, the neat stack of golden coins, the quiet slave behind the counter, and slowly, he took the offered hand and shook it.

"A  _great_  pleasure doing business with you..." Obi-Wan said, a sly grin on his lips as Quinlan dropped his intimidating demeanor and immediately vaulted over the counter to begin happily chatting with the slave Obi-Wan had just purchased.

"What does a Mandalorian even do with a slave..." Watto grumbled, scraping the golden coins off the counter and covetously grasping the large sum in his hands. "I didn't think Mandalorians  _kept_  slaves..."

"We don't," Obi-Wan chirped, smiling at Shmi as she walked cautiously around the counter to face her new master. "I'm here on behalf of Anakin Skywalker."

Shmi gasped, her hand flying to grasp at her chest, only able to remain standing because Quinlan stood behind to support her. Even the coins fell from greedy Watto's hands, landing with a rich chime on the hard, compacted sand.

" _You_!" Watto snarled, his wings beating furiously as he buzzed before Obi-Wan's face, his finger pointing accusingly against his armored chest. "You  _lied_  to me!"

"Did I?" Obi-Wan drawled, thoughtfully stroking his chin, arching an eyebrow and taking a step back from the enraged Toydarian. "No, I don't believe I did. Not once."

"You are  _Jedi_!" Watto said accusingly, and Obi-Wan waved him off with a scoff.

"Jedi? No, not me." He pointed to Quinlan, the grinning idiot supporting an almost boneless Shmi with a strong arm around her waist. "But  _he_  is."

"Hello!" Quinlan said brightly, waving at the enraged Toydarian with his free hand, which only seemed to make the hovering man more furious.

"You Jedi are  _thieves_!" he shouted. "The other one stole Anakin from me, and  _now_  you will take my last slave?!"

"I was under the impression that you wagered Anakin and  _lost_ ," Obi-Wan said cooly, his own finger striking Watto in the chest and sending the sputtering creature slightly backwards, the warning glare he shot the Toydarian saying in no uncertain terms to keep his distance. "Oh, I've no doubt the wager was an unfair one. Qui-Gon Jinn doesn't bet and lose, his faith in the Force practically guarantees that. But  _our_  transaction?" he said, pointing to the coins on the ground. "Perfectly legal, and  _more_  than fair to you."

"I changed my mind!" Watto snapped, pointing furiously at Shmi. "I want my slave back! I will not allow you thieving,  _cheating_  Jedi to rob me again!"

"Very well..." Obi-Wan said with a shrug and a sly smirk. "I'll sell her back to you for one hundred peggats." The outraged howl of a furious Toydarian filles the air around them as he charges, but it stopped suddenly, the screaming catching in his throat and his wings ceasing to beat, though he still floated in the air, Obi-Wan's hand extended before him and his fingers curled in toward each other in a loose grip. The room fell silent, save for the sound of Watto's strained, restricted breathing.

"Now, now..." Obi-Wan said in barely a whisper. "I dislike violence, Watto, and I believe we had a  _deal_. Shmi Skywalker now falls under  _my_  protection, and I highly suggest you don't try to find out exactly what that means by doing something  _stupid_." He tapped the Toydarian on his stubby trunk. "I'll let you go as soon as we leave, but for now, you just stay  _right here_."

"Anakin..." Shmi gasped, finally able to find her voice. " _My_  Anakin?"

"Playing with my children as he waits for you on Mandalore, my dear," Obi-Wan said gently, a soft, easy smile on his face as he looked at the overcome mother. "He won't stay there, of course, he  _is_  training to be a Jedi, but I am on good terms with his Master, so we'll see about arranging  _training trips_  to Mandalore. We'll get you set up in Sundari Palace, maybe have you help with the children-" Whatever he was going to say was silenced when Shmi threw herself against Obi-Wan and wrapped her arms tightly around him, the woman haplessly sobbing against his chest and muttering a soft cadence of thanks.

"Hey, "Quinlan drawled, gesturing with his hand and the golden coins floating up to rest in his palm, the Jedi looking suspiciously at the wide-eyed Toydarian. "What do you want to do with all this? It's a  _lot_  of money, Kenobi."

"Leave it," Obi-Wan muttered, running his finger over the woman's cheek to wipe the tears away. "A deal's a deal, Quin. Let's just get out of here." With a swift nod and final look at the Toydarian in the grip of the Force, Quinlan strode quickly to walk with Obi-Wan and Shmi out of the little shop, each step down the street the woman moving stronger and faster, the realization of her freedom slowly seeping out from behind the shock.

"Do you have anything to take with you?" Obi-Wan asked before they turned down the large avenue toward the spaceport, taking the woman's hand in her own, and she smiled brightly at him.

"Just a few things," she said quickly, tugging on Obi-Wan's hand in the opposite direction of the spaceport. "Follow me, it won't take long."

"You know what, Quin?" Obi-Wan drawled, his eyes fixed on the woman practically floating down the street in front of them. "Freeing slaves feels good. I know we can't save all of them, but Mandalore has a  _serious_  population problem right now and a culture of adoption. Maybe we can at least bring some to Mandalore. It won't be the first time I freed slaves. I think it's an elegant solution."

"At the very least, you can talk to Her Highness about it..." Quinlan drawled, gently nudging his friend. "Or  _maybe_  I could tell her! Make my last visit a thing of the past!"

"Mm, I think not," Obi-Wan said quietly, smiling as Quinlan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "It's not a good time to visit, but I'll be taking the family to Coruscant in the next week or so. You can make amends then."

"With a  _threesome_..." Quinlan drawled, leaning in toward the shorter man and his eyebrow waggling suggestively.

"You know what, Quin, if you manage to even mention a threesome to Satine without being castrated,  _I'll_  argue for it on you behalf."

"...might not be worth it after all." With a sigh and a light, easy smile, Quinlan and Obi-Wan followed Shmi as she ran into the tiny hovel that was her home and helped her pack her few belongings and an unfinished protocol droid, the three leaving the home and stepping out into the early evening, ready to leave Tatooine far behind them.


End file.
